Arise in the Mourning
by FallenEve
Summary: With the end of the war came a new year. The ache in their loss and tears for their triumph was not enough to pull together the shattered pieces. It would take time and unlikely allies to find a brand new way to live; one where mourning always came.
1. Prologue

**Arise in the Mourning**

**by Fallen Eve**

---

_**Prologue**_

_**"Tomorrow is nothing, today is too late; the good lived yesterday"**_

_**-Marcus Arelius**_

The sun decided to show that day, as if that would make it any better. Hermione couldn't decide whether this was a blessing or merely that the sun was mocking them. It was just one of those idiosyncrasies that she saw every day, the small things that were out to get her and the rest of them. It was the reminder that as their lives came screeching to a halt, the rest of the world was moving steadily forward. She knew she'd be trapped, in this moment, in this graveyard. She had no purpose in moving on. Her job had been done, her life had served it's purpose.

She had followed some of Dumbledore's advice, but Dumbledore spoke in riddles half of the time anyway. With his passing came a kind of mourning that the whole wizarding world felt. They were ruined from the inside out by the death of the beloved Headmaster. He was a man of courage, understanding, love and an unending supply of sweets. It was a wonder he didn't rot his teeth from the inside out. The memories of the old man's smile and crinkled eyes behind those familiar half moon glasses was enough to cheer Hermione's heart. However, this was not the funeral she was attending. Albus Dumbledore's body was not in the coffin before the pulpit of the church. No, this was a much more familiar hero.

The Headmaster's death came much sooner than anyone would have liked, and along with it came an assault from the enemy. His death had been planned for and the moment that the man fell, Voldemort was preparing his armies. He would take the world by storm over the months of summer. He nearly succeeded. The ever courageous Harry Potter was at the ready, fueled by the mourning of his dearest mentor. He didn't have to wait long before they would meet the devil himself.

Harry's last bit of travels with Dumbledore revealed a large lump of information to Harry that was not in the least bit settling. The rumor of the Horcruxes was enough to make any wizard's stomach turn. Hermione found the whole ordeal to be disgusting and only imagined that a very disturbed man could dare cut up his soul as he had. In spite of her better judgement, she joined Harry in his search as well as Ron. They wouldn't leave him to fend for himself and they knew they the three of them worked better together than they did apart. Harry had the determination, Ron was the enthusiasm and Hermione was the smarts. The trio was meant to be together, meant to finish this fight. "No matter the consequences," they vowed, "we will finish this."

The consequences were great and many. In the matter of a month, they had dodged Death Eaters, elluded the Ministry and found all but two of the Horcruxes. Every day there was news of a new death, some of them friends. They were becoming panicked. Voldemort's power was increasing, his attacks all the more frequent. He was angry and he knew that they were close. They had to find him and they had to kill him. There was no other way for this to come to an end. They would find a way just as they always had, just as they always would.

In the middle of July, the three stumbled on a bit of good luck. They were informed from an anonymous messenger, who Hermione was sure was Severus Snape, that Voldemort planned on attending his final blow to the Ministry. There was a last stand that was to take place in the backwoods north of Hogwarts where the Dark Lord planned to steal his victory as well as steal the school. As demented as the man was, he was certainly sentimental of that school, the place that gave him his potential and showed him his path.

Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves preparing for battle in the dark forests. The last stand, the last battlefield. It was kill or be killed. Over the matter of three hours, the three of them weaved their way through the forest, avoiding and fighting various Death Eaters who were no doubt guarding the spot where their final opponent was hiding. They found him, face to face for the last time. Harry was nearly ready to charge the man, killing him with his bare hands, but Hermione had smartly reminded him to keep his cool until they could discover his weakness.

And so, the negotiations began. Granted, they were all completely one sided and in each Harry died. It was growing tired, weak and they were ready to lunge. However, the two guards standing immediately at the Dark Lord's sides were enough of a deterrent. Without much warning, there was a flash of light in the distance from the forest behind them, a scream followed by another flash. Harry, as always, acted on impulse, pointed his wand at the narrowly distracted enemy and fired off an _Expelliarmus_, disarming the Dark Lord. Before Harry could fire another, the Dark Lord was at his throat, lifting the boy into the air by his neck. Simultaneously, Hermione and Ron had been bound by the two guards.

Hermione was still haunted by the words of Voldemort as he choked her best friend.

_"You do not understand your own mortality," the man hissed._

_"And what about yours?" Harry choked out the question, it coming in harsh and ragged breaths._

_"Do you not understand? With your death, I am sacrificing a piece of myself for the greater good. Even if you had been successful in my demise, you would still carry all I needed to return and finish the job." Voldemort's voice was sinister, the sound of a haunting wind through tall forest trees._

_"NO!" Hermione gasped in understanding. She knew all too quickly what he meant and with Harry's face quickly turning blue, she knew he wouldn't be able to answer._

_"Yes," the demon hissed, "Harry, I see the recognition in your eyes. You are the Horcrux you've been searching for."_

The next few seconds seemed to be hours and Hermione was almost certain she had the events wrong in her memory. Something was not right from the moment they heard this. She had been captured by one of the Death Eaters, a tall man who had his arm around her neck and his wand pointed into her ribs. The other was hold down Ron, face to the forest floor, his foot between the red-head's shoulder blades. Hermione envied Ron, now, knowing that he didn't see what came next.

There were two flashes of light, both a bright green zipping through the air. The first was from Voldemort as he struck Harry with an Avada Kedavra. Instantly Harry was limp, hanging by his neck in the long fingers of the Dark Lord. The second flash came from the wand of the Death Eater holding her. It directed itself and struck the Dark Lord himself. Hermione couldn't remember much after that.

Hermione and Ron were left in the forest. She knew she was conscious as was Ron, but neither of them moved. They sat, huddled together on the forest floor staring over at the lifeless body of their best friend, their hero. However long it was, Hermione didn't know, but eventually they were found my Severus Snape, who was dressed in Death Eater's robes; all but the mask. She knew he was working for both sides, but she had no idea the extent of his dedication to this job he'd taken on.

Over the following week, Hermione was in St. Mungo's and then home with her parents. Ron had returned to The Burrow while the Ministry planned the funeral for their beloved friend. Her mother reminded her daily that after the funeral, it would be easier, but Hermione didn't believe that. She knew that nothing was ever going to be the same.

Hermione stared blankly at the large stained glass window a the head of the church. It was casting a rainbow of light across the coffin and Hermione had to grab Ron's hand to bite back the pain. She knew that he was vacant. Ron had hardly said a word and couldn't meet her eyes. She knew he felt guilty. What else were they to do that night? It was not their battle. They both knew that the victory was to be Harry's, even if he didn't cast the curse that killed Voldemort. Harry was the final piece to the puzzle. His sacrifice was the one that mattered. Without him, they'd have nothing left.

The funeral moved on. The families and admirers payed their respects. Hermione had done her best to see off her closest friend, but she found there was so much more to her pain than even she knew. She had to excuse herself immediately after the last few moments at the gravesite. He was buried beside his parents, just as he ought to be. And as she walked away, she noticed the vast amount of faces she saw. Rita Skeeter, Luna Lovegood, Cedric Diggory's parents, Dumbledore's brother, Narcissa Malfoy and Draco. The last two surprised her the most, but not enough for her to show any further interest. For a brief moment she met Draco's eyes and she received a cordial, albeit emotionless nod. He stood beside his crying mother while he looked impassive. She'd expected nothing less.


	2. Oh, What You'll Miss

Chapter 2: Oh, What You'll Miss

.

**_"It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live."_  
-Marcus Aurelius**

.

.

Hermione walked onto the platform alone. She had been running late, either by accident or unconscious sabotage. She was dreading this ride. The Hogwarts Express was just as it had always been; the worn paint, the gleaming wheels riding along smooth rails, and the smoke stack reminiscent of years gone by. It was the reminder to everything she'd seen before today, before this summer. Her past, present and future was riding on that train. It was a ride she wished to refuse.

With her trunk in tow, she dragged herself up to to edge where an attendant took her heftier luggage, leaving her with her leather satchel and a coat. She was already dressed in her school uniform because this year she had to set an example. As if the she hadn't set enough of one already. Only a few weeks before school was to resume, she received an owl with a list of school supplies, schedules and a notice congratulating her on her nomination as Head Girl. The smile that broke across her war torn features softened her face considerably, but when she rushed hurriedly to the door of her bed room to tell her mother, she realized how fruitless it would be. She wanted to cheer, her inner schoolgirl and library troll personality leaping to the surface. She was going to be one of the two highest ranked students at the school. She could give out detentions and threaten with house points. She could wandered the halls and give off her superior attitude while proudly displaying the specially made Head Girl patch, depicting Gryffindor's colors and their courageous mascot. It was something she'd always strived for through all her years at Hogwarts and now she had it.

And what an empty victory it was. She had retreated back inside herself, writing a letter to Ron and tying it to Hedwig for delivery, who she'd inherited much to Crookshank's dismay. She then retrieved another parchment, this time sitting down at her desk, her brow creased in concentration. She brought her quill to the page after dipping it in the black ink. She heaved a great sigh before putting quill to parchment and writing out in her elegant scroll;

_My Dearest Harry..._

That letter had been written with great detail and careful concentration. She had decided that she could not bear to keep anything from Harry, even with his grand finale having already passed. When something important happened, she vowed to write to him. She could direct an owl to his resting place, the letter and a single rose tied together. She knew it was going to become a strange habit and one that she wouldn't share with anyone. She was okay with that. She knew that her strengths and weaknesses were for her to correct or embrace and this was a moot point. Harry was going to be a part of her, no matter how much it hurt.

It was this that pushed her to board the train in spite of her desire to run. She could have stayed home, hiding inside the Muggle world and pretending that none of this had ever happened. She had no qualms with the human's lifestyle and so she found that she could get used to washing dishes by hand and standing up to retrieve an item from across the room. However, it would be an insult to Harry's sacrifice if she turned her back, so on the train she went.

Immediately she was being watched. The moment she stepped into view of the compartments, she saw the eyes of a school's worth of students staring at her. Some where whispering to others, some merely stared, their eyes as big as saucers. She clutched her coat and satchel closer to her as she turned her head down to the floor and walked briskly through, looking only at the floors of each compartment to find an empty one, because alone is what she wanted. The patch that was secured to her robe was not a source of power, not yet. She didn't feel it's courage in her, it's effects only that of a patch and not of a position of power. She would have to learn to overcome her sudden stage fright.

As she walked, she had to stop abruptly at the sight of a pair of neon green tennis shoes adorned with bright pink and yellow laces. Hermione's eyes trailed up the legs of the person standing in the doorway of one of the compartments. She reached the girl's face and was greeted with the dreamy smile and warm eyes of Luna Lovegood. The shoes should have given it away immediately and regardless of the nostalgia on this train, Hermione found herself returning the smile.

"How lovely it is to see you, Hermione." Luna spoke softly, her usual airy voice dancing lightly in the space around them.

"Yes, and you, too, of course." Hermione began but was stopped by the blonde Ravenclaw when she wrapped her arms around her neck in a warming embrace. Hermione let out a soft 'oomph' and then wrapped her free arm around the girl to pat her on the back. Hermione knew the girl better than to assume she was hugging her in pity of her loss, but rather that Luna did in fact care for Hermione. She had to admit, she was fond of the girl's quirks. It was a comforting revelation regarding their future. Luna finally released Hermione and stood back, that same soft smile on her pink lips. Hermione again couldn't resist to smile back.

"Ron and Ginny are sitting with me." She said finally, stepping to the side to show Hermione into their compartment. Indeed, Ron and Ginny were sitting on one side. Ron was by the window, looking out, his face void of all emotion, his eyes glazed over with dark circles under his eyes. There was a shock of pain in the center of Hermione's chest. It was a sensation she was becoming familiar with. Ginny was sitting facing forward, her hands folded in her lap, her long red hair falling perfectly over her shoulders. Ginny looked up, smiling gently in spite of the way her eyes were glazed over. Hermione couldn't bring herself to speak and instead joined them, sitting across from Ron after placing her satchel and coat in the overhead shelf. Luna took her place beside her.

-----

Their departure for Hogwarts had a majority of the students bouncing about half way through the trip. Their own compartment had been silent aside from Luna telling stories of the imaginary creatures that lurked outside in her garden back home. She told all her stories while knitting a hat and sewing brightly colored buttons in clusters along the rim. She seemed perfectly happy in providing the distraction for her fellow passengers. At one point, a few boys ran down the aisle, interrupting her story briefly. She met the interruption with an "Oh my," and continued on.

"Does anyone know who is Head Boy?" Hermione interjected after Luna finished an anecdote regarding flobberworms.

"That's right! You are Head Girl. Congratulations, Hermione." Ginny looked up with her bright blue eyes for the first time. Hermione knew that Ginny Weasley wouldn't be able to hold back her naturally alluring personality for long. No kind of mourning could hold the girl back. It made Hermione smile wider than she had in the past few months. She looked to Ron, who looked over at his sister and then to Hermione to nod his approval of Hermione's accomplishment.

"Thanks," Hermione responded gently.

"Ron is a prefect, ya know." Ginny added with a proud upturn to the corner of her mouth. "It seems we'll be able to get away with all kinds of shenanigans."

"Hardly!" Hermione expressed her disapproval of such activities before redirecting her attention to Ron, "Congratulations, Ron. We'll get to spend some time together then with our duties. I'm sure I could plan our patrols together, since I will be scheduling them along with the Head Boy. Who was it?" she asked, her tone implying she couldn't remember if they'd ever even mentioned who it was before.

"Malfoy." Ron's voice sounded somehow deeper when he finally spoke. He wasn't looking at them, but he answered.

"That can't be right." Ginny protested.

"I believe it's true," their Ravenclaw companion added with a nod of her head.

"Draco Malfoy? Honestly, what's he ever been good for other than riding the coat tails of his Death Eater father?" Ginny spat.

This put an end to the conversation. Ron shut off even more, if it was possible and Hermione found herself holding down her breakfast. It wasn't the news of Malfoy's position at Hogwarts, but the reminder of this summer's activities. The youngest Malfoy had disappeared through half of the summer. There was rumor that he'd been taken hostage by Death Eaters, then the rumors claimed it was his very own father. Either way, Malfoy Manor had been empty since last April excluding their barrage of house elves. After the war came to an abrupt halt, Narcissa and Draco magically appeared at the doors of the Ministry. They both had been wiped of the memories of exactly how they got there, but remembered much of the past few months. Their stories checked out, but story goes that though they didn't participate in Voldemort's plans, Draco had been marked as one of their own, which could explain his involvement in the attack on the school that fateful night. Whether the loathsome toad was sorry for his crimes was yet to be seen. How the school had decided that he was fit for the highest student body position in the school was not something she could even begin to fathom. She'd have to have a talk with Headmistress McGonagall.

-----

The remainder of the ride was quiet and before long the silence was broken by the sound of the trains call to the platform. The great horn that sounded, shook Hermione out of her dazed state and she immediately stood up. The student rushed out of their compartments, excited to be returning to the school grounds. The first years were easily spotted between their young age and the naive excitement that adorned their glistening, hopeful eyes. Hermione smiled, remembering that same youthful hope that had dissipated so long ago. It may have only been six years ago, but she'd done a great deal of growing since then.

The students unloaded off of the train and were greeted with the great booming voice of the school's very own grounds keeper. Hagrid's unruly hair and ragged beard was enough to scare the first years into submission, but he did nothing of the sort. Instead he called out to them, beckoning them to his great form so he could give them the tour they would always remember with great fondness. He saw Hermione over the heads of the bustling students and gave a hearty wave as well as calling out to her. She returned a much more delicate wave, grateful to see him come out on the other side of the war, and went with the other students out to where the carriages would take them to the school.

Once clear of the station, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Luna walked together to find a suitable carriage, but as they approached them, both Ron and Hermione halted in their tracks, frozen in place as they stared at the black carriages.

"What are you two staring at?" Ginny called back to them, all of her attitude sitting for display on the hip she'd jutted out to rest her hand on.

"You can see them now." Luna said matter-of-factly.

"Pardon?" Ginny retorted.

"The thestrals. They can see them." Luna responded, her tone absent of all mal-intention that would have usually taken place after Ginny's snide response.

Ron and Hermione just stared. The great beasts were black as the night. Their frail, skeleton frames were visible through the tightly pulled skin. The animals wings spanned, flapping in adjustment every so often, looking much like a bat's wings. Their faces were skeletal, just like the rest of them with beaks that hooked over the end. They were terrifying to behold and Hermione was very much rooted to her place. To think that she'd let these _creatures _pull along the carriages all these years without concern for her safety. Perhaps ignorance is the bliss they always claimed.

With another beckon from an impatient Weasley girl, Ron looked over to Hermione, taking her hand and walking with her to the carriage. The action of holding her hand had a warming effect that trailed up her arm. Again, that weight of pain against her chest rose to it's peak. She was starting to think that the pain in her chest was there to remind her she was alive, because at that moment, Ron's touch was enough to throw her back into the past. Not to say that they'd had any intimate relations, but they had been very close and his touch was the warm embrace that she'd felt as they stared blankly at the body of their hero.

Hermione shook herself out of her memories, returning to the day and climbing in, finally releasing Ron's hand. She tucked her hands in her lap, not wanting his comforts again. That short distance was enough to last her a while. She couldn't have her falling into Ron's arms as a fail safe every time she lapsed into the summer's tragedy. She had learned to deal with life before and this was just another aspect of it. Death was what came with life. It was the end of the line, the last of the tales.

-----

The ceremony in the Great Hall was celebratory. It was clear that the excitement among the first years was radiating out into the rest of the student body like an airborne virus. Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table sandwiched between Ron and Neville Longbottom. Neville, who was sitting ahead of her was in her line of site to watch the Sorting Hat victimize the students below it. Hermione found herself completely distracted by Neville, however. His brown hair had grown out some and there was scruffy facial hair along his jaw. He seemed to have aged years over the summer. She was certain he was at Harry's funeral, but she couldn't recall seeing him; not that she recalled seeing many people at all. Nonetheless, his mature features had caught her off guard and Hermione was now looking around the room, finding other peers who looked so much older than they had before. The Patil twins looked like they'd blossomed more than before. She'd always thought their exotic features were attractive, but the older they became the more alluring their big brown eyes were.

The more she looked, the more she found the students to be grown up. This class had been through it's ranks with The Boy Who Lived to deal with. They'd certainly made their mark on history as such. And as she scanned the room, she noted how many of them were missing. She knew there were fatalities and it pained her to imagine how they had gone. Everyone in this room had lost someone close to them, to be sure and as they all looked forward to the face of their Headmistress, they were met with a great sense of loss and a new sense of hope. This was not Hermione's own sentiments, but merely an observations; one that she wished to ignore.

The ceremony ended on time and the newly sorted students were directed towards their prefects to show them to their common rooms. Ron stood up and with a quiet resolve and demeanor that demanded respect, he took to his task. The 'P' sewn onto his robe seemed fitting, knowing the bravery he had shown in battle. All of the seventh year students were deserving of that same sentiment.

"If I could see my Head Girl and Boy, please." The Headmistress' voice boomed through the room, before tapping her throat with her wand to silence the bullhorn effect. Hermione nodded to Ron and Ginny, a confirmation that she'd see them later and then gently touched Neville's shoulder, a sign of friendship. The previously timid boy towered over her, but smiled down before leaving then table.

When the room had cleared, Hermione moved towards the front of the Hall. As she walked along the table she looked over, finally meeting the eyes of the only other person in the room. Draco Malfoy looked weathered and even from the distance across the room she could feel the anger that was rolling off of him. She felt hesitant to stand near him, knowing that this would be the closest they'd been to each other after she knew that he had a part in the death of their beloved Headmaster. The weight on her chest demanded attention and she broke their gaze, standing in front of Headmistress McGonagall, her hands clasped behind her back. Malfoy came to stand beside her, his frame engulfing hers in size and impact.

"Now," McGonagall began with the clearing of her throat, "the both of you have been chosen for very specific reasons. Your cleverness, your cunning, your calm demeanor in the face of stress and turmoil is admired and in this year after the loss of so many great witches and wizards, the student body will need these very characteristics in their greatest mentors." McGonagall paused, eyeing them both separately, making sure her notions took root in their brains. "There is one change in the way we are handling our Head Girl and Boy, however. In previous years, or at least the years you have seen, we've kept the Head Girl and Boy in their respective house, giving them a dorm to themselves, but still among their peers. We feel that now, in spite of the loose cannons out in the world, we can resume our _usual_ traditions."

"Headmistress?" Hermione voiced nervously, wishing the witch wouldn't pause so often.

"Well, on the third floor of the castle is a formerly hidden set of rooms. They are dorms, larger than the average dorm, each with an attached bathroom and a shared common room. These have been dormant for some years now and you two will be the first to reoccupy them."

"I'm sorry, are you saying I'm sharing a room with Granger?" Draco's voice startled Hermione. His apparent disgust with the sleeping arrangements was clear in his tone and the deep scowl that creased his brow. Hermione looked up at his face, seeing how he was raging below the surface, but holding back merely because of who he was talking to.

"Not a room, per se, Mr. Malfoy, but a common space between rooms. You are required to work very closely together at all times and in the case of emergencies and busy schedules, you'll need a way to find each other and meet." McGonagall held up her hand to stop Malfoy in the midst of pressing another concern, "Don't be so concerned. The private rooms are warded and have been installed with various ways to keep the other out. Only you will be able to enter and a password is required. It is your own responsibility to set this password. There are no exceptions. Neither of you may stray into the other's room as well as other students."

"Headmistress!" Malfoy started in again, the anger boiling inside him coming out in his clenched fist that was only a step away from Hermione.

"I won't hear it, Mr. Malfoy." McGonagall interrupted, "You two are on your own. You'll have further instructions on duties, requirements and expectations later. Get your rest, tomorrow will be a full day." With that, the two of them were dismissed.

Malfoy turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. Hermione, who was in just as much shock as her counterpart didn't even know where to begin. It seemed that the enemy never rested, no matter who the enemy was. She was going to have to take this on as a personal vendetta. She could avoid him outside of duties, hide away in her quarters and lodge away in the library whenever she needed. Besides, she still had the Gryffindor common room and could join her friends there when the stress got too great. She had to focus, it was all she could do. She wouldn't let the past get in her way.

The girl's brain had jumped into hyperdrive, however. She had so many questions for the famed Slytherin. Where he had been and how he got back. The elder Malfoy had gone missing and though she was sure that all of the Ministry was searching for him, there was more to the story. Perhaps she'd be able to pick his brain. It would serve as the distraction she needed from the past's demons. Besides, switching out one demon for another could be done, if handled properly.

Hermione left the Great Hall, following the directions to the the third floor where she found a large wooden door with the anagram 'HQ' inscribed in gold and silver letters. She smiled in amusement that their room would be considered "Head Quarters" by name and association. Stepping forward, she pulled out her wand to give the password.

"Lemon drops." she whispered. The password had been set in honor of their fallen Headmaster and his love for sweets.

She entered the room, finding that it was warm and bright, adorned with memorabilia of Hogwarts' years passed. There were paintings of other Heads of House, the grounds and various events that took place on the place where the school stood proud. She stared up dumbly at the ceilings, entrapped by the feelings that overwhelmed her; feelings of home and comfort, love and companionship, pride and that lingering sense of weight on her chest. _Oh, Harry, the things you'll miss..._

In a flash, Hermione was shoved back against a wall, her head hitting the frame of one of the many paintings. She crashed with a yelp, her hair falling in her face as she peered up at the newest demon in her life. The blonde boy had his face contorted in such a way that she was sure it physically hurt him. He was standing a foot from her, glaring with his frozen grey eyes. She wasn't afraid of him no matter what he did to her. She'd seen much worse than a tormented boy like Draco Malfoy. She took the time to match her eye line with his, ignoring the malice that radiated out of him. Their eyes stayed locked for some time, fire and ice, colliding like Titans, until he raised a pointed finger.

"Stay the _fuck_ away from me, Mu–" Malfoy paused, confusing her, but pressed on, "I won't put up with your shit. I don't give a fuck about you, your house, this school and these little wankers." his voice was dark, seemingly sucking the light and warmth out of the room as he spoke. She inconveniently noted how his voice sounded. It was deep and reminded her of the sound of stacked leather soles on hard wood floors.

She bravely dared to answer, "If you don't care, than why did you return at all?"

Hermione flinched as Malfoy's hand came rushing at her face. His palm slammed against the wall behind her, landing just beside her head, catching some of her hair between his fingers and the stone. She immediately met his gaze again, but this time he leaned towards her, pure poison on his lips.

"Keep on your side of the room, you little shit."

And he back away. He didn't say another word, he didn't give a moment for her to respond, he just disappeared into his private dorm, leaving her shaken and reminded of her own pure hate for the Prince of Slytherin.


	3. Routine

**Chapter 3: Routine**

.

**.**

**_"_****_The happiness of your life depends upon the quality of your thoughts: therefore, guard accordingly, and take care that you entertain no notions unsuitable to virtue and reasonable nature."_**

**-Marcus Aurelius**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Hermione hadn't been sleeping for months now, making the previous evening and rough night no different than how she'd been living recently. She awoke to a bright room, her body feeling tired and overworked; the exact opposite of the cheery decor of her new dorm. She lied on her back, the crimson bed sheets pulled up to her chest and stared up at the vaulted ceiling. She sighed, feeling the weight of the world lurking into the small space that was her room. It had become an unwanted habit that she had to convince herself to get up out of bed in the morning. The first thoughts she had were always, 'I refuse to get up... I must get up... someone will need me... Harry wouldn't want me this way.' It hurt more than anything that she was in pain while he had no way of expressing his true distaste for her wallowing in pity, that she was certain he'd be doing. In fact, it reminded her that she shouldn't feel this way either. And again the weight on her chest reminded her she was alive.

She realized very quickly that the closing presence was consuming her again, the light of morning unable to fight off the ghosts behind her eyelids. Hermione sat up immediately and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her eyes shut as she focussed her attention on motivating herself to face the day and an entire body of students; not to mention the violent Slytherin boy only a room away. Somehow, Malfoy's reaction to her, his demand and threat, was not something she feared. She should, by all means, have feared the boy. If something in the rumors were true, it was likely he'd taken the mark and was then one of the enemy; just another version of himself, really. She knew all too well that Malfoys could not be trusted. If they weren't plotting, they were having moody outbursts from the slightest of triggers. Clearly, last night had been a trigger for him.

Over the next half hour, Hermione got up, showered, dressed herself and tamed her mane of hair. For a long time she stood in front of the mirror, her hands on the counter, leaning on it as she stared at her hardened amber eyes. They didn't hold the same luster they had before. Her thirst for knowledge was lodged somewhere inside her dormant heart, lost with the passions that had previously consumed her. She was a shell of herself, only the outer parts to convince the rest of the world that she was still there, but she knew, more than anything, that she was disappearing. If she couldn't find herself soon, she'd be lost forever. No, Hermione Granger did not lose herself for anything. She could not and would not allow it.

With a determined nod, she left her dorm into the common room. She had a good look at it last night, but was not aware of all the details that were inside. The door out into the hall was in the center of the wall and the room was exactly symmetrical to that reference. If one entered through the door, directly across they would see the fireplace, large enough for floo. Two couches were set facing each other, perpendicular to the fire place and door. In the corners that were shared with the door was a floor lamp and a plush wingback chair. On either wall was a desk and chair as well as a moderately sized book shelf stocked with all of the basics and room for more. On either side of the fireplace were two maps that were framed and hung on the wall. One was the grounds of Hogwarts, the other was of Hogsmeade. In the corners shared with the fireplace were the two doors into each separate dorm. Malfoy was in the right side and Hermione was in the left. Her room had been decorated with Gryffindor's colors as well as related art. She assumed that Malfoy's had taken on the Slytherin theme in it's cool green and silver while she enjoyed her warm gold and red.

She stood just outside her own door, still trying to will herself into the common room to leave for breakfast. Malfoy was no where to be seen and she hadn't heard a peep from his room, though he could have used a silencing charm for the extra privacy. That thought alone gave her the incentive to leave the room, not wanting to find herself face to face with his morning wrath. She took swift steps out of the room, out the door and down the hall. She weaved her way through the maze of halls, at one point having to escort a very disoriented first year Hufflepuff to the Great Hall. The small girl voiced a tiny 'thank you' and skipped off to her table. It was so much like a Hufflepuff to be grateful and it was just as refreshing.

Hermione puffed up her chest, putting on a brave face and found her way to Ron's side at their table. Ginny was sitting across from him, chatting with a third year, though it sounded more like scolding. Hermione had to stifle a giggle from the younger one's expression. The Weasley girl was as fiery as her hair, sometimes. Hermione was glad to see that some routine may be beneficial for them all. It would become a way for them to find some peace or at least a way to keep their minds busy.

"So, where were you last night?" As she often was, Hermione was surprised to hear Ron's voice. It was weak with neglect. He hadn't been speaking to anyone lately and she knew it would take some time for him to return to even a shadow of his former self. She held out hope for him, even if she herself had little hope for her own scars.

"I was assigned to another dorm." Hermione began, unsure of whether she should continue, but she knew she couldn't keep it a secret and had no reason to, "McGonagall has reinstated some old tradition that Head Boy and Head Girl share a smaller common room on the third floor. Malfoy and I each get our own room and–"

"You are sharing a room with Malfoy!?" Ron burst out, his voice raging with a fierce anger that she hadn't heard from him in a long time.

"No! No, Ron, please." She corrected him immediately, "No, we have separate bedrooms and separate bathrooms. We can't even get near each other's room without setting off alarms." _Though that doesn't negate the chance of assault in the common room,_ she added internally.

"We can't have you shacking up with Malfoy. God knows what he might do." Ron's face had become the shade of his hair, if not darker.

"Did I hear shacking up with Malfoy?" Ginny piped in. Her blue eyes were full of curiosity as opposed to Ron's blind, though not unwarranted, rage.

"No, you did not! Stop repeating that, you're going to start rumors." Hermione waved a hand at her, an ill conceived gesture to shut her up.

Ginny mockingly returned the gesture, "I will not. What's going on?"

"McGonagall is off her rocker." Ron piped in. He was now stabbing at his scrambled eggs unsuccessfully. "She's got Malfoy and Hermione sharing a common room."

"That's absolutely wicked." Ginny sneered, a malicious glint in her eye. Hermione couldn't decipher whether that was a good wicked or an evil wicked to which she was referring.

"It's fine,"_ O__ther than having a bruise on the back of my head_, "we'll avoid each other, I'm sure."

"You'll be around him all the time, Hermione!" Ron dropped his fork onto his plate, which clinked and clattered a few times, drawing eyes from all over the Hall.

"Ronald, stop it. I was going to have to see him anyways. We have to work together. It's important that we all get along as best we can. I won't have us fighting, especially since we ineed/i to be setting an example."

"I don't give a shit about examples, Hermione," he whispered, leaning towards her. Hermione kept her eyes on him, but saw that Ginny had leaned in, as well. "I'm not letting you spend time alone with him."

"Ron, you are making this worse than it really is."

"I doubt it."

The two stared at each other for a long time, silently battling between each other, while Ginny looked back and forth between the two of them, a sly smirk on her face. She was waiting for one of them to break their glare, when an uproar from across the room brought them all out of it and looking over their shoulders. On the far side of the room, Draco Malfoy was standing up, Pansy and Goyle flanking his sides and cheering. Hermione narrowed her eyes to see what the excitement was about when he seemed to feel her eyes and looked at her. He held her stare until she let her eyes drop. Whatever it was he was saying to encourage that reaction wasn't a good one.

Hermione, Ron and Ginny left the Great Hall together. When they walked through the threshold into the hall, she found herself face to face with Pansy, who had her arms folded over her stomach, leaning her weight on one leg and one eyebrow raised impossibly high. "Mudblood..." she muttered under her breath.

Hermione was shocked to hear the word out of her mouth, not because Pansy wouldn't say it, but with the war being over, she was surprised that anyone would dare express those views again. No matter what side you were on, the war had been dangerous to both sides.

"Skinny, knock-kneed twit." Hermione fired back at her, no louder than whisper.

Malfoy had suddenly appeared out of no where, his arm resting casually around Pansy's shoulder. He was wearing the same snarky expression as Pansy and he tilted his head, "Granger, such insults should never come from the Head Girl. It's an abuse of power."

Before she could respond, they were making their way down the hall. Hermione clenched her fists, half convinced she should hex him. Unfortunately, he was right. Whether he'd been taking a stab at her or really trying to express his concern, she knew she shouldn't have responded that way. It was the exact opposite of what she needed to do to bring this school together. She had a feeling she would be doing this alone. Malfoy had no intentions of making this job easy on her. He'd already forcefully expressed his hatred for her and the school, the job he was awarded was surely his worst nightmare. It was just another inconsistency with Malfoy; he was here even though he hated it.

.

-----

.

The day's classes moved on at a steady pace, which was a welcome schedule. Hermione was tired of erratic travels and times, taking into consideration the effect a tragedy had on one's life. The toll it took was a wide spectrum, ranging from sleep to studious concentration. She was grateful to be back in her element. School had always been her way of life. She knew she fit in here. She knew she could be successful and that nothing could hold her back. Nothing would succeed over her will to learn all she could. She needed this lifestyle more than anything right now.

Hermione was glad to be greeted warmly by Professor Lupin, who had been reinstated as Defense Against the Dark Arts as well as Gryffindor Head of House. A new professor, named Trinity Hurshwing had taken over potions and Slytherin in Severus Snape's absence. Snape's alliance was up for questioning and had brought on a massive investigation of all of his alibis, associations and recollections. Hermione's original judgement of Snape was that he was a wolf in sheep's clothing, however she had a tendency to believe Dumbledore and he had sworn on Merlin's grave that Snape was trustworthy. If this was the case, Snape would be released from holding in due time. If not, another face of the enemy would be revealed. Hermione was still certain that their anonymous messenger was Snape. The language used, the way the message was delivered and the risk taken was all consistent with Snape's mannerisms. She had a peculiar suspicion that it was him and her gut had never let her down before.

Headmistress McGonagall continued to take on the Transfiguration classes. They had yet to find a replacement and it was clear that she was not going to so easily let go of the job she'd become so fond of. It was her vice, just another person holding onto the last bit of normalcy they had left. For McGonagall, teaching and torturing students in Transfiguration was her constant comfort. Hermione found comfort in her books. Ron seemed to be missing his comfort since she was fairly certain his was Harry. Once Quidditch picked up again, she knew he would find a niche, especially since he was likely to be named captain this year.

At any rate, the day finished with no major hang ups. Hermione had a few chances to stretch her authoritative muscles, giving a stern lecture to a few second year boys about the misuse of magic in the halls. She set them straight, but couldn't ignore the kinship she felt with them. She'd been the same kind of girl before. She brewed potions in toilets and threw around her fair share of spells in the stone halls.

All in all, her day was easy. She had no encounters with the Head Boy aside from the morning's exchange of insults with his dopey girlfriend, if that's even what they were. Ron had been in a neutral mood, which was a bright improvement on his life as of late. Luna was always her usual self and Ginny had gained some of her confidence back. Hermione didn't doubt that Ginny was crying herself to sleep at night. Ron had told her that over summer, it was hard to fall asleep with her sobs from the other room. Her heart ached for her. She knew how hard it was losing Harry, but Ginny and Harry were romantically involved. They were complex. He had kept his distance for her safety and now she was suffering from that. She was alive, but suffering. Weren't they all alive but suffering? Was there any other option?

.

-----

.

Hermione found herself taking slow steps down the hall on her way back to her room. She hated to find out what Malfoy had been up to. If he was in the common room, she was going straight to her own dorm, no matter how badly she really wished she could enjoy that beautiful room they were meant to share. She was having a hard time seeing how any adult could find that having a boy and girl sharing a common room on their own was an intelligent design, but she wouldn't dare ask the Headmistress that. She seemed quite certain that it was the right decision to have them together as often as possible; mortal enemies or not.

When she did utter the password and enter the room, she was greeted with a frightful sight. Malfoy was sitting on the couch, a girl sideways on his lap. Her shirt was missing and his hand was cupped over her breast outside her still in tact bra. They were devouring each other's faces like starving dogs and Hermione let out a loud groan of disgust.

"Honestly, Malfoy!" She hollered. The pair broke apart with a start, the girl still on his lap. She was no older than a fifth year with golden brown hair and from the looks of it, she had been wearing a Slytherin tie before it was discarded to the floor. Hermione's existence didn't have enough effect it seemed, since the girl sat there on his lap, no shame in being shirt less. Malfoy was stroking mindless patterns on her stomach and staring at Hermione, waiting for more than what she's started with.

"Well?" Hermione received no response, "Get out!"

The girl began to stand up, but Malfoy held her hips in place and kept his stormy eyes on Hermione, "You can't order her out. This is the common room."

"Yes, the common room for _us_, not any seduced girl you can drag in here to prey on." Hermione gestured towards the dumbfounded girl, but they both burst into laughter at Hermione's prudishness, she assumed. "Get out!"

"Go into your own dorm." Malfoy barked.

"Why don't you?" Hermione argued childishly.

"Because she can't go in my room, you stupid bint!"

"I'll report you. I'll take points and assign detention." Hermione threatened them, but Malfoy laughed again. There was a challenge in him from the way he threw his head back.

"You can't take points from me." He reminded her. They were equally Head Girl and Boy and neither could take points from the other.

"No, but I can take hers." Hermione spoke smoothly before walking towards the adjacent couch and sat down. She crossed her legs and then her arms across her stomach. She was daring him to continue. Malfoy sneered at her, that same poisonous stare coming from him. The girl stood up, taking his silence as her cue. She picked up her shirt and haphazardly pulled it on, holding her tie and accessories that had gone flying in her hand. She gave Malfoy a final kiss, threw daggers with her eyes at Hermione and left the room.

There was about thirty seconds of silence between them after the door had slammed. She narrowed her eyes at him, keeping a steady lock on him. Hermione was feeling a new kind of anxiety building in her chest. This time, instead of a weight from the outside, it felt like pressure from the inside wishing to escape. She knew that this was fear. She was wavering from her stare the longer Malfoy's eyes pierced her.

"I should tear you apart." Malfoy spat.

"I'm sure you'd love to." She tilted her head as she spoke. Her false confidence was pushing all of his buttons.

"You're a bitch." Malfoy started. He began to stand and Hermione, fearing that she'd be at a complete disadvantage if he got too much higher than she was, stood up to match him even if she had to crane her neck to look up at him. His tall frame was lean, but by no means any less intimidating. She'd seen his speed and precision on a broom and she knew that he was capable of the same athletic ability on land.

"And you know what the worst part is?" he queried, "You know it. You're a _victim_. Everyone should watch out for the priss that walks the halls because she's been damaged. God forbid she admits any of her faults."

"Piss off, Malfoy!" Hermione snapped, lurching towards him closer.

This pushed Malfoy's rage to a whole new level. He immediately brought a hand up to tangle in her hair, holding her head back so that she was straining her neck back, her eyes wide with fear as he loomed over her. His other hand took her chin in his hand, gripping her tightly to the point where tears were welling up in her eyes.

"You're... you're hurting me!" she cried through clenched teeth.

"Good," he confirmed. "I want you to know pain." He released her just as fast as he'd taken hold, stepping back a foot, "You make me nauseous."

Hermione rubbed her jaw, "Are you sure it isn't altitude sickness? You've spent so much time slithering in the muck in those dungeons that the third floor must feel like Everest."

"You..." Malfoy's voice became dark and ominous. Hermione felt chills run up her spine and just as he was about to have his hands on her throat, he pulled away from her. It took only moments before he was gone.

His constant rage was going to prove to be problematic. She wasn't sure how many times she could let him put his hands on her without reporting him. She knew fear, she felt fear too often. What she felt when Malfoy was stalking after her was not fear. She pitied him, perhaps. She felt an overwhelming need to ask him about his problems. She knew a normal therapeutic approach would be fruitless, but she felt the need to do something for him. Whatever it was he was going through, whatever it was that had him threatening a woman was something bad enough that she could set aside her fear and try to help.

Or maybe she was merely using Malfoy's abuse of her as an out. She was consumed with pain. The loss of her best friend was haunting her every single day. Each one of these halls, every desk and every wall was reminding her of the adventures, good and bad, they had shared. Ron was all fucked up and Ginny was hiding her broken heart. How was Hermione any different? She was indulging her sick need to impress people by letting Malfoy treat her like she was less than the dirt the school was built on.

She stood in the center of the room for a long while, staring at the couch Malfoy and his ifriend/i had been occupying. She couldn't hear anything from his room and there was nothing to shake her out of her funk. She'd usually have to feed her cat, but he was happy to be back in the castle where mice roamed free. Hedwig was sustained in the Owlery. Hermione very quickly realized that she had no one to tend to, no one to talk to and nowhere to hide. She took this as her cue that sleeping may erase some of her irrational thoughts and she should just give in to the Sand Man.

.

.

*****

A/N: I'd like to thank anyone and everyone who's been reading and all of my new readers as well. This story is something that I took on as practice in a way. I never write fanfiction, but I wanted to write something that was going to be a little less stressful and confined and merely use the venue as a way to practice my writing.

You'll find that this story will continue to be very heavy. I feel that the Draco Malfoy that was portrayed in the books and the Draco Malfoy he could have been were very different. The books, because they were children's books, didn't allow him his full spectrum of emotion. I always saw him as the bully with some severe Daddy Issues. This story is going to give you a look into the mind of the Malfoy that I always saw.

The following chapter will be from Malfoy's point of view. I will be following a pattern for the remainder of the story. There will be two Hermione centric chapters and one Malfoy chapter, excluding the prologue.

Please review and read and enjoy. I hope to fill in some fun previous unexplored parts of Hermione and company.

--Fallen Eve


	4. Hesitation

**Chapter 4: Hesitation**

**.**

**.**

**_"Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth." _**

**- Marcus Aurelius**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Undoubtably, there were two ways to forget yourself. The first was to sleep. This would draw your mind into a numb state in which dreams were all that were cast. There was risk of nightmare, but this was a risk that was hardly enough to consider keeping awake. The second was to submerge one's own thoughts, actions and concerns into another person's life. Unfortunately, both of these options had their draw backs that Draco was not willing to risk.

The desperation to feel removed from society and the inner workings of Hogwarts was strong. Strong enough that he continually considered leaving in the middle of the night with nothing more than a 'Fuck You' carved into the Headmistress' door. There was very little that the school had ever done for him. In fact, he'd wasted six years 'learning' about nothing of importance. He was being held back by the rules and regulations. He could have been a great wizard; he was a great wizard. That was all over with, now.

No, Draco wouldn't leave the school. His only sanctuary–his home–had been invaded and stripped of all questionable paraphernalia when his mother and he had been deposited on the Ministry's front step. With his father missing from the equation, their home was immediately seized and searched, turned upside down. His father wasn't there, just like he'd told them. In fact, from what Draco knew, there wasn't a single incriminating piece of evidence in the place. Just what had they been expecting? A shrine to the snake-faced Dark Lord? Hardly! The Malfoys wouldn't have placed themselves in that kind of danger and overwhelmingly idiotic position.

He understood, though. Malfoys had long been associated with trouble and 'incidences' that create wonderful front page news. He was perfectly aware of the things that his father had done and his mother on occasion. It was lucky that he spent his teenage years tucked away in the dungeons of Hogwarts, never a suspect in the trouble that came and went outside those walls. He was exempt from the blame, too young to understand (so they thought) and an alibi to back him up. It wasn't until last year, the sixth year at school, the year he found himself with a choice, that he had become a target for the almighty Aurors that had long been searching for every soul that signed a contract to the creature that was formerly Tom Riddle.

Draco made his choice. It would be a lie to say that it was his own. He was heavily influenced by various peers and authority. He couldn't honestly say that it was a life or death decision, but he sure as hell wasn't going to find out what would happen if he didn't accept the Mark. He was daft enough to believe that he could be a part of that. He could be the influence that their cause needed to turn the rest of the wizarding world. He could be enough for his father and mother to understand his plight as more than their son, but a contributing citizen. Yes, he was contributing. He provided information, planted seeds in the minds of younger, more impressionable Slytherins. He was the virus that was spreading around the school and none of them even knew they had been infected. He'd done his job well. His handiwork was to be praised.

Then there was that matter of Dumbledore's death. Draco's loyalty was to be tested by this act, showing his colors and which side of the war he stood on. He knew deep down where he stood. He knew how his alliance would effect the remainder of his life. So, why had he hesitated? Why had his task been done by Severus Snape, who was now cowering in a cell for conspiracy against the Ministry and his involvement with Voldemort? Why had Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, a child of pure and nobel birth, been hesitant with the task he was given?

Because Draco Malfoy always hesitated. Up to the moment, he knew he would kill Dumbledore and for every moment after, he knew he had wanted to, but when the very juncture, the exactly point in space and time had presented itself on a silver platter, he had hesitated. He paused, his wand firm in hand, his mind repeating the Killing Curse over and over. It was so strong that he could see the words behind his eyelids, yet he never spoke them. He never even thought them enough in order to encourage any kind of spark or flinch of wordless magic. There was nothing that had been strong enough in or outside him to make that flash of green light explode from the tip of his wand to strike dead the only man who could hold back the agenda of Voldemort.

Everything else in his existence fell into place with this. Draco's life was a series of defining moments missed by questioning eyes and frozen actions. His heart screamed to act and his body refused to do so. He couldn't even finish the moment with that fucking Gryffindor! He wanted to smash her face in. He could see it inside his head; blood streaming down her face from her nose, her eye swollen and black and blue, bruising. He could see her hair falling over her face as she cried, begging him not to hit her again. He wouldn't hesitate to show her the pain that every witch and wizard should feel. It was in the pain that they were stronger, the pain that made them more.

So, he paced the floor in his dorm. The only light to the room was the gentle grey hue that cascaded in through the window. There were no lit candles, no warm fire. He paced repeatedly, dressed in only jeans, no shirt and bare feet. His head hung down, staring at the carpeted floors while he wore a path in the fibers. Thank god for stone walls and silencing charms or the entire castle would have been able to hear his miserable and entirely pitiful thoughts. He was nearly screaming inside his head and he had the faintest feeling that the rest of the world could hear him. Not only would they hear him, but they would call him a failure, a disgrace. He was nothing to them. His pure blood was wasted for a failed cause and a cowardly boy.

He could have screamed, damning the world to hell and burning with it. He could see himself lighting the torch and flaming the school. He could see the terrified faces, hear the screams. Punishment for their ridiculous, wasted lives, just as his own. But he would do no such thing. Why? Because he would hesitate.

.

-----

.

"Draco, honestly. You are getting skinny, eat something." Pansy was pushing his plate in front of him. Draco shoved it away _again_.

"I swear to God, I'll rip your arm off if you try that again." His grey eyes were down to the table, but his voice was dark and ominous, floating across the table top and invading the supper of anyone within range.

Pansy pouted with a 'Hmph!' and turned her nose up. Her silent treatment was welcomed. He'd been putting up with the nonstop drawn out lectures from his professors as well as the long instructions on how the prefects should be treated and sorted and scheduled according to school policy. Headmistress McGonagall made a point to write out her directions in excruciating detail, leaving them in his common room.

It had been three days since the last encounter Draco had with the insufferable woman he shared a common room with. He'd been fully prepared to honestly kill her the next time she threw any sort of insult his direction. She'd either be dead or wake up in a remote part of Africa, which just so happens to be most of it. He hated her. He loathed her. He would willingly gouge out his eyes if it meant he'd never have to see her again. Of course, he'd have to evaporate his ears as well, since her voice was just as, if not more, annoying than her smug expression.

The damned girl spent so much time sitting in their shared space that he'd taken to hiding away in his private dorm or finding a quiet place among the roots in the forest. He'd been ready to run off at one point, but again, he had hesitated only to return to his room to find the book obsessed Head Girl asleep on one of the couches. He had snarled at her while she slept. He imagined a million ways to disturb her sleep, but he merely disappeared into his dorm. Draco was learning the art of stealth very quickly.

Pansy spoke up again, getting in one last good plea for him to eat. In an instant, Draco had his hand wrapped tightly around her wrist, he stood, pulling her up with him. Her bright eyes were wide and terrified. He could see the way that they filled up with tears, threatening to slide down her cheeks. "I dare you to try that again." Draco growled at her.

He then threw her hand away from him. Pansy was still shocked, standing and massaging her wrist while she and the rest of the Great Hall watched Draco step away from the table and wander out the doors. He knew he was being watched, just as he always was. He was Head Boy, after all. If that wasn't reason enough, his outburst with Parkinson was enough to get their attention. He enjoyed this part of school. No matter what he did, good or bad, he had followers and fans. They were constantly following him around and asking questions, praying that the Slytherin known for his cool would bestow some of his knowledge on them.

Funny thing, that is. Knowledge? Hardly. Draco just made shit up. He smirked to himself as he found his way to the third floor. He hadn't waited long enough to know if Granger was still at supper or if he'd have to deal with her in the room again. He arrived in no time, whspered the password and stepped inside. The perfectly symmetrical room was calculated and precise, two things that he admired. The decor was much too sentimental and warm for his taste. He preferred modern, meaningless shapes as opposed to things like a map of the grounds. Who bloody cared?

Draco walked to the couch that was on his side of the common room, or what he considered his side. He removed his outer robe and draped it over the back of the couch. He then picked up a book he'd been reading that was on the end table and flopped down onto the plush furniture. Realizing that school was over for the week, seeing as it was Friday already, he tossed the book haphazardly back onto the table and leaned his head back. With his eyes closed, he unbuttoned the cuffs to his shirt and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows.

It was quite some time that he relaxed there. He thought of nothing, expected nothing and planned nothing. Draco was enjoying nothing more often than not, these days. He wanted to forget the past, present and future. He considered finding himself a theoretical tear in space and time, planning to take up residence in a place no one would know where he was. At least there, nothing would be able to happen that would allow for him to _hesitate_ on his decisions.

Just as he thought he was calm enough to begin to think again, the double doors to the common room from the outside hall clicked as the door unlocked. It swung open and Draco lifted his head, his eyes narrowed, his upper lip curled back into a snarl. He watched with pure hatred for the being that was about to come through that door. The brunette hair practically engulfed the witch as she stepped inside. He could see by the way she was tiptoeing that she was attempting to keep from waking or disturbing him.

"You can cut that out, Granger. I'm already awake." The words on their own would have been fine, but the clear loathing in his voice had the girl flinching as she shut the door. She then turned to face him, her eyes rather neutral. Her body language was betraying her, however.

He looked her over for a moment, not hiding his expressions. Overall, he was disgusted by her. That hair, her amber eyes and the way she'd taken to standing with her arms protectively around her middle. She was weak. She was a victim. She was all those things that Draco refused to be. He hated her for not helping herself. He hated her for thinking that she could be a part of this war. There was no battle for her. It was live or die and she did nothing for her own well being, but rather helped push the mission that the self-righteous Harry Potter had planned.

"You're disgusting." Draco's voice seemed to echo repeatedly inside the room. It was as if every wall had gasped at his proclamation.

The girl's eyes were wider than they had been moments ago, which was quite the feat. She walked in further and just when he thought she was about to disappear behind her own door, she stopped, setting down a few books onto her desk and turned towards him. He knew that turn, too. She always turned quickly, her hair fanning out with the force, her body leaning towards the subject of her interest. She opened her mouth, inhaling and preparing to ask her very own million dollar question, when her eyes drifted to his arm.

Draco was sitting back, both arms raised and resting on the back of the couch. His left forearm was completely exposed and facing the fearful eyes that met it. The black inked on mark took up most of his forearm. The skull and snake were intertwined and seemed to be enraged at all times. The damned Mark hurt, too. Of course when he'd been marked, it hurt like hell as though his arm had just been taken off. It would then burn and freeze, itch and ache all depending on the Dark Lord's mood. Even now he could feel it twisting inside the muscle of his arm, constricting it and dragging it out. Most had expected the Marks to fade after the death of their fearless leader, but it did no such thing. The magic used to create the Mark in the arm of an accepting recruit was an old magic from medieval days. The Mark had become a permanent resident on Draco's arm since it happened. WIth the death of the man who put it there, the inked on image seemed even further imbedded on his skin. It was as though he could feel it in his bones.

Draco's sly smile began slowly. Just the corners of his mouth had turned up in the slightest until he was suddenly watching her through villainous eyes, his mouth curled into a smile that could make ice feel warm. "Does it scare you?" he inquired.

"I... uh..." the girl stuttered. Her eyes were glued to the black figure on his arm.

"Is that all you have to say?" Draco considered adding another insult to this phrase, but found he was far too preoccupied by the pained expression on the Head Girl's face. She looked positively green with nausea. It made his heart flutter knowing that he could have that kind of reaction when he hadn't done a thing.

"Why did they let you come back?" Her voice surprised him. he hadn't been expecting her to respond as quickly as she did, but he thought momentarily.

"Come back for what?" Draco was losing his patience with the suddenly stupid girl.

"The school... here. How could you have been allowed here when we saw you before. You were a Death.... a Death Eater," Granger said those words under her breath as though if she said them too loudly, they would come for her.

"Do you really want to know?" Draco leaned his elbows on his knees and slouched forward. He knew all too well the kinds of stories that would circulate around the school. All he had to do was create the right kind of scenario. Once the girl nodded he leaned back. "I told them I had a change o f heart. I bullshitted my way through the whole interrogation. In fact, I'd done so well, they thought I was completely innocent. I told them how much I_ admired _Harry Potter and his bravery."

Granger looked like she'd witnessed a train wreck. He chose to push further. "It's a good thing I didn't tell them about his reputation. Lord, I'd be in trouble, wouldn't I?"

"How dare you!?" the shriek that left the Head Girl's throat was a noise that Draco never, ever wanted to hear again. She stalked towards him, curving around the furniture until she was near him, hand raised as if she planned to hit him. Before she could even recoil her harm to swing, Draco was standing up, her wrist in his hand. He looked down at her, his grey eyes piercing her own warmer irises, though her face had drained of it's color. That oh, so Slytherin sneer pulled up at the corner of his mouth. God, his life was completed by the fear she was expelling. He could nearly sink his teeth into it.

"How dare I?" he breathed.

Granger clenched her jaw and swallowed before opening her mouth, "You know nothing about Harry. He is... was amazing. He did exactly as he had to to ensure the safety of the rest of us. _You_ are the enemy, _you_ are disgusting and _you _should not even be here! How did you convince them, _Malfoy_? How did you convince the school and Ministry that after nearly killing Dumbledore on your own, you were safe to be here in a school full of students that don't fit the Voldemort criteria? HOW!?"

She was yelling at him now, leaning in towards him. The hand that was raised being held by the wrist was clenched into a fist, though she wasn't struggling to get away from him. She'd become more and more bold over the past couple days. She wasn't hiding from him, she wasn't pulling back and cowering. She was leaning in, instead. He hadn't expected her to feel that bold.

Her screams and questions weren't all that interesting to him. Why was he here? Oh, there were certain extenuating circumstances; things that only a few enlightened knew about. There was the matter of him being a minor at the time of joining the forces of evil. There was his mother's pleas to save Draco. There was also the matter of money. If enough was given, anyone could be bought out of jail. There was, of course, one very specific reason that he hadn't been condemned to a life in prison, but that was none of Granger's business.

"Imagine, if you will," Draco began. His tone had turned into a smooth, dreamy drawl while he examined her balled fist in the hold of his own, much stronger hand. "that you are faced with your own worst enemy. We'll say Voldemort for the time being."

"But he's dead--" she interrupted.

"Tut tut, Granger, I'm not finished." Draco tightened his grip and he saw her wince, "Let's say he's alive and he's standing right in front of you. You have the opportunity to cast Avada Kadavra, striking him dead in an instant. Would you do it?"

Granger stared up at him, her eyes full of wonderment at him. He could see just how confused she was by the way he was talking to her and where this question was ultimately leading. She shrugged, "I... I, yes I would."

"Mmm, I doubt you would do it or succeed." he answered for her. She shook her head.

"No, I would. I would kill him." Her voice had taken on a hint of assurance.

"You are absolutely sure that you want him dead? Gone, nothing left but the corpse?" Draco raised an eyebrow at her. His grip on her wrist had loosened some, but not enough for her to pull away. She wasn't even paying attention to that any more. It seemed she was too caught up in this hypothetical scenario.

"I'm sure." She responded.

"But the problem is, Granger, that no matter how badly you want to see him dead, how sure you are that it is exactly what must happen, your actions spoke otherwise." Granger opened her mouth to interject, but he squeezed her wrist, pressing his fingers roughly into the soft spot on the underside and she whimpered. He smiled. "You did not answer me fast enough the first time. You did not say that you would kill him without a doubt. You _hesitated_."

"I hardly see the problem." she had her nostrils flared and pulled up at an unattractive angle while she scowled.

"That is exactly why they let me come back. I hesitated to kill Dumbledore and Snape did the job. I was certain he needed to die, I wanted him dead, Granger. The Ministry, however, interpreted my hesitation as unsure emotions and internal conflict. They believe I can be rehabilitated to fit in with this school because I didn't act immediately. They are sure that my momentary pause is the proof that I didn't want Dumbledore dead." Draco leaned down the distance between them, their noses practically touching, his grey eyes locked onto hers, "I can assure you that I did."

Granger was now physically shaking. She began to pull her arm away, trying to break free. Her other hand reached up to try and uncoil his fingers that were locked around her wrist. Her whole body was screaming panic and Draco smiled. He was satisfied. Perhaps now she wouldn't ask more questions of him. She would know that he was what all the rumors said. He was going to be the greatest man to walk these halls for successfully terrifying the little shit. She always acted so ready, so proud, so brave. The Gryffindor inside her was minimal. She was still just a frail woman. It was all she'd ever be. No amount of education could change that.

Draco released her wrist and she withdrew violently, stepping back on unstable feet, nearly tripping over the rug below them. He raised an arched brow, a calmness emitting from him that no one else could match. He'd been well taught as a Malfoy. His emotion was reined in. The only emotion he ever struggled with was anger. He had no intention of hiding it either. From the way she had flinched the first night they were face to face, he knew he'd do it to her again and again. To see her scared reminded him of so much that had happened...

Draco was the first to leave. He backed away and then turned to cross the room to his own door. With his back turned, he heard the exhale of a relieved sigh and then her weight fall onto the couch. Draco whispered his own password and disappeared behind the door, shutting it with a crash.

Once out of her sight and earshot, he fell back against the wall, his eyes shut, his heart thudding harder than it should have been. Her questions had caught him off guard. He was talented under pressure, but the minute she spoke, he was immediately charging to respond. He couldn't let her see that hesitation in him. If he'd have done it again, she certainly wouldn't have believed all he told her. He needed her to believe those words, that he was sure of his actions (or non-actions). She had to believe it, wether any of it was true or not. He wouldn't allow her to look at him the way that she always had. Sure, she hate hated him immensely during school before, but underneath the glares and talk, she pitied him and that was worse than anything else she could have done.

If she wanted answers, he would answer her, but whether she knew the truth, well, that just depended on how smart she really was.

.

***

.

A/N: There are very specific phrases, words and explanations in here that give key information in regards to Malfoy's beliefs, morals and convictions. They are subtle and important. If you didn't notice them, I don't plan on pointing them out. It is part of the mystery that is Draco Malfoy. I know that he is severe, however, I believe that after a life like he has had, severe is a step up from what he could be.

I hope you are enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it. Any and all reviews are absolutely welcome and appreciated, as well as subscriptions!


	5. Compelled

**Chapter 5: Compelled**

**.**

**.  
**_**"We are too much accustomed to attribute to a single cause that which is the product of several, and the majority of our controversies come from that."**_**  
-Marcus Aurelius**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Hermione was on a mission. Each stride was long and set down with purpose as she drew herself closer to the Headmistress' office. She'd informed McGonagall only that Saturday morning that she absolutely had to speak with her. The woman responded kindly, alerting her that she needed to speak with both the Head Girl and Boy, but Hermione persisted. She let her know that there was an urgent and private matter that needed to be discussed before this other meeting was called. McGonagall had merely raised an eyebrow behind her glasses and nodded her approval of this secret meeting.

The previous night had proved to be far too revealing. Hermione hadn't intended on finding out so much information about Malfoy, but it seemed the boy was insistent on telling her exactly what he was about. She'd been up all night, tossing and turning, terrified of what may lie behind that door on the other side of their common room. She knew she was safe and she knew that the Ministry and Hogwarts would not have allowed a dangerous individual to reside here had they not been sure of his intentions. However, Hermione found that Malfoy was much more cunning than any other student or Slytherin, for that matter. His demeanor and poise was misleading when he roamed the hallways of the schools. She could see the way the other Slytherins looked at him; their eyes wide with reverence at the blonde's suspiciously calm behavior. He was just as vile as he'd always been, but now he was in a place of power. That is, until Hermione was finished with McGonagall.

It wasn't even about how he'd been physical with her. Yes, it was frightening and there were moments of panic, but she had the distinct feeling the Malfoy was using scare tactics as opposed to true malice. The first night, when his hand came rushing to her face and he instead slammed it to the wall, Hermione realized that he wasn't trying to hurt her. There was the matter of the pulling of her hair, which had also been extremely unpleasant, but again, she had an instinctual feeling regarding his actions; she just wasn't sure what that was yet. It wasn't to say that she wouldn't meantion it. She wasn't going to put up with his behavior and should he dare lay another hand on her, he would get what was coming to him. Hell, she might just release the hounds. God knows Ron needed something to perk him up. Perhaps a few fists to the sneering boy's face would help her red headed friend. Whether she intended on mentioning the past few days of confrontation in this meeting all depended on the Headmistress' reaction to his spoken confessions.

Hermione had a hard time believing that Malfoy would be stupid enough to say these things to her and not expect it to get around at one point or another. Seeing as Hermione did not start rumors, she felt that the appropriate action would be to turn him in. There was another small intuition that said Malfoy wanted to be caught. Hermione wouldn't deny his subconscious their deepest desires. She was more than happy to have the low life removed from the grounds forever. Perhaps he could join his father in oblivion, or wherever the elder Malfoy was.

She knew that she was truly seeking revenge. She wasn't going to hide that from herself. Denial about her feelings towards Malfoy would only serve painful. The right thing to do would have been to try and help him, ignoring the pain he inflicted on others and seeing that as a cry for help. Hermione didn't care, though. Malfoy had tortured her long enough. Their school years were filled with turmoil that he caused, always finding a way to insult her. She was going to get him removed from the school. She had to. This was for all the things he said; the rumors, the lies, the times he hurt any of her friends, the things he'd said and done to Harry and most of all, this was for every time he'd ever called her a mudblood.

She gave the password and the elaborate entrance to the Headmistress' office began to rotate and reveal itself. Hermione had been in here enough times to know what to expect, though she'd yet to see it since the Albus Dumbledore had left. She half expected the room to be the same, since it was all she knew. She was in for a rude awakening.

Once up the spiral steps, she knocked gently on the door. The tightening lump of emotion in her stomach was painfully reminding her exactly what she was doing. Her mind reeled with last minute questions and uncertainties. Did she want to go through with this? Did she mean it? Was it right to be getting this kind of revenge? Was it even revenge? Hermione exhaled a brisk sigh, resolving herself to the real truth of the matter; Draco Malfoy was dangerous and could not be left unsupervised. He should be removed from the premises immediately.

Hermione heard the faint 'Come in,' from inside the door and she pushed it open. Much to her surprise, the room that had previously been full of warmth and the smell of sweets was now a much cooler shade. Dumbledore had a way with decorations, finding the warmth in everything. His knick knacks were always on display and his ways seemed to be reflected in the books on his shelves. Though most of the things were still there, something was very different. The light was a cooler shade of blue rather than the yellow warmth she'd come to know. The books had seemed to multiply, though. McGonagall was very precise in that manner; she loved her knowledge as much as the Ravenclaws. Hermione let her brown eyes wander the walls and found that her answer was simple. The only thing missing was Dumbledore.

"What is it you wished to speak to me about, Miss Granger?" The Headmistress began immediately, never one to waste time. She was sitting behind her desk, a quill in hand and her glasses resting low on her nose as she peered over them at Hermione.

Hermione was still getting her bearings and found that the nervous lump in her stomach now seemed angry. McGonagall cleared her throat and Hermione blinked rapidly, refocusing her attention, "Yes... it's about Malfoy."

"Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall repeated the name. Hermione ran the expression on the Headmistress' face through her mental reference book. The woman was not surprised, but she seemed interested, though not concerned.

"Yes." Hermione said quietly, unsure of whether to dive into her explanation. Things were so much easier with Dumbledore, before.

"Go on." she urged the student.

"Yes, well." Hermione looked down at her feet and then forced herself to find more poise to face her Headmistress, "There have been some revelations that have been made. He has confessed a bit of himself to me in regards to his being at the school and I feel that though I respect the Ministry and the school's decisions, there has been a grave mistake."

McGonagall didn't say anything immediately, but rather hummed her understanding before finally pursuing the student's statement, "And what mistake is this?"

"Headmistress, I believe that Draco Malfoy is a liability to the rest of the student body. He is not...stable."

"Not stable?" This time the Headmistress' expression was amused; an expression that Hermione did not appreciate considering the severity of the conversation.

"He openly confessed last night his desire to have killed Albus Dumbledore!" Hermione was loosing her temper very quickly and this time she would be understood very clearly. "He seems certain that the Ministry has misinterpreted his actions for innocence and that it is the only reason he is not rotting in Azkaban as he should be!"

Hermione's eyes flashed with fire and McGonagall did not so much as flinch. Instead, the woman removed her glasses and folded her hands over the desk, a gesture that very clearly state, 'Are you quite done?' Hermione recoiled her fiery attitude and slumped back a step, realizing her error all too late.

"I see," the Headmistress stated blandly. "I appreciate your concerns and your commitment to your place as Head Girl as well as your bravery to dare turn over such information. Had this confession been true, you'd find that it would help us in our capture of many more menacing Death Eaters–"

"Headmistress!" Hermione tried to interject, seeing that she was not taking this as seriously as she believed it was.

McGonagall held up a hand to stop the girl, "No, you will listen to me carefully." She paused, waiting to see the student's cooperation before standing from behind her desk and standing in front of Hermione only a few steps away, "There is no reason to fear Mister Malfoy. His confession is daunting, I assure you. However, it is nothing we haven't heard. There are many things in this world that you will not know and will never find out. They are for privileged and few individuals who need the information. Your job is to work with him. You will either do so, or step down from your post as Head Girl. I will not allow you to slander his name and if I find out that you are, you will be disciplined."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I cannot let this go! I understand that there are things that the Ministry should only know and whatever that information is, I respect them enough to leave it be, but this is not the same thing! Malfoy expressed his hatred for Dumbledore, he assured me that he wanted him dead and there was no indication of remorse! He was missing for a couple of months. Lord knows what he had been doing in that time!" Hermione's voice was raised, but less out of anger and more out of concern. Her tone wavered dangerously with each word, emotion catching in her throat.

"I appreciate that, Miss Granger. I honestly do. I truly believe that he told you those things, but as I said, there is information you do not know, nor need to know. He is not a danger, Miss Granger. He's a much better person than he wishes to be. Give him time and I know you will see this," Hermione opened her mouth to argue again, but McGonagall stopped her again, "No, I won't have it. Draco Malfoy remains here as Head Boy and you will not speak of this to another person. Do you understand?"

"Headmistress!"

"Do you understand, Miss Granger?" The woman's voice had darkened with a demanding presence.

"Yes." Hermione snapped back at her. She knew that she was giving an attitude, but she didn't care. This wasn't right.

"Now, I believe we have a meeting in a couple of hours. You will not let him know that you have been here saying such things. Do I make myself clear?"

Hermione considering bursting forth another slew of accusations and explanations, but McGonagall's eyes were serious and she knew the words would fall on deaf ears. She nodded instead and turned to leave. The Headmistress' didn't stop her. Hermione did hear a sigh leave the woman's chest before Hermione had closed the door.

For a good half hour, Hermione wandered around the halls, muttering to herself. She was furious. This wasn't right! There was something missing that either they didn't know or she didn't know. Either way, she was missing a piece of the puzzle and it wasn't going to help her feel much better after this. Her whole life was surrounded by mysteries. First it's being a child and having strange things happen to her. She gets old and befriends the one boy who has his life drowning in mysteries, puzzles and general trouble. The war finally ends. Finally she can get back to life, or as close as she could without Harry and she finds herself in the middle of some new mystery! She was positively fuming and one wrong word from someone and...

"Hermione!"

"WHAT!?" She snapped, turning around to face a very shocked Neville Longbottom. She shut her eyes and sighed before refocusing on him, "I'm sorry."

"Malfoy get to you?" Neville stated coolly. Hermione's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. How could he know that?

"How... what... you..." she stuttered stupidly.

"He's on a war path today. Anyone who has had a run in with him today is just as angry as you are.. well, not as angry, but angry." Neville quirked a lopsided smile.

Hermione shook her head, a short, airy laugh leaving her. "Yeah, he's difficult."

"More than difficult! He's been passing out detentions like candy to lower years." Neville smiled fully this time, finding it more amusing than anything.

"Just another thing I'm going to have to talk to him about." Hermione smiled, lying through her teeth. She didn't want to deal with him at all, but he was abusing power, now. Not that it surprised her.

"So, where are you heading?" Neville interrupted her thoughts.

"Oh... nowhere." She shrugged.

"Mind if I join you to nowhere?"

"Not at all."

.

.

-----

.

.

The walk and talk with Neville was calming. He was a wonderful alternative to the insanity she'd been living recently. She'd never met someone who was that easy to get along with. She truly enjoyed his company. It was uncomplicated. She was refreshed to have a friend who wasn't closely involved with Ron and Harry. Sure, Neville had definitely done his fair share, but he was different, less dramatic. Also, unlike Ron, he was dealing with his grieving in a much better way than most. While they talked, he expressed how sad he was and extended his condolences, but he also said how he was finding peace in a world where fear didn't lurk in every corner. He reminded Hermione that they all have a long life ahead of them that was only because of Harry's life. They were all going to be ok, he assured her.

After parting ways, Hermione headed towards the Headmistress' office again. This time, she'd be facing the old woman with her sworn enemy, but she'd have to keep cool. It was going to be difficult. Last night's events were still fresh in her mind. His face, twisted with anger and delirious rage, had been burned behind her eyelids. She couldn't see past his storming eyes. She perked herself up, though, fighting back the demons. It was another internal battle she'd fight on her own, just another day of lying to herself.

She went through the same gaudy entrance to the office and found the door open. Hermione entered in gingerly and was met with the back of a blonde head sitting in a chair in front of McGonagall's desk. The blonde turned around, a raised eyebrow and telling smirk on his face. Malfoy was enjoying the discomfort that he could see on Hermione's face every time he was near her. He was transparent in this way, but the minute she walked over, seating herself in the chair beside him, his expression became neutral again. She wanted to slap him right then and there. He was playing his games and making her look ridiculous in front of the Headmistress.

"Well, then. On to business." McGonagall's tone was less serious than she had been with Hermione before. She was still upset that the Headmistress wouldn't even hear her out. Instead, Hermione was in this office for the second time, now sitting beside the very person of her concern. McGonagall gave no indication that the conversation had even happened and Malfoy, who was as cunning as ever, put on a good face for her.

"In response to the general demeanor of the student body, I have decided that we are in need of a morale boost. Simply put, the past years have been difficult and taken their toll. I wish to have my Head Girl and Boy plan a 'Welcome Back' banquet of sorts. It needs to be announced on Monday and set for one week from now." McGonagall had always been a demanding professor. She had always had a wonderful way making student's loath their existence, but this was too far.

"Headmistress, that only gives us a week to plan it. Isn't that a bit hasty?" Hermione interjected, feeling emboldened by her earlier frustrations with the Headmistress.

"Hasty? No. Prompt? Yes. You will have your proposal for themes to me by tomorrow night. You can utilize your prefects as well as any willing professors. You are in charge of decorations and menu. Music can be charmed, if needed. It is a simple task, I would say. Just imagine if you were doing this without magic and then perhaps you'll see that what I'm asking is hardly very difficult." McGonagall was staring directly at Hermione as she said this. It was clear that the woman's patience with Hermione was growing thin and Hermione merely nodded. "Mister Malfoy, anything to add?"

"No, ma'am." Malfoy added with a sweetness to his tone that had Hermione cringing. Just another game, another lie.

"Dismissed, then." McGonagall waved them away and began reviewing another parchment before either of them could even stand up from their chairs.

Hermione was the first to leave the office, down the staircase and into the hall. She continued to stalk through the halls with heavy steps, her arms locked and fists clenched at her sides. She could hear the leisurely steps coming from behind her. She could feel the satisfied sneer on Malfoy's face. Her loss of temper earlier with the Headmistress was still lingering and Malfoy's constant brown nosing was about to kill her. If he pulled any more of these games, she was going to absolutely snap.

She was in their common room soon after, walking across to the fireplace and leaning against the mantle. She had all of three seconds to compose herself before Malfoy stepped in. She looked over her shoulder at him, his apathetic demeanor lying to her. He slumped down on his couch, his hands in his pockets and nothing more to show. She spun around quickly, much like she did when she was ready to pose a question, her hair fanning about and her whole attention on Malfoy. She was full of emotions when she looked at his face, seeing his features so serene while his posture so relaxed. How was it that this kind of exertion of his demeanor was terrifying? She was scared of him. He knew it, too.

She especially could tell by the way he eyed her and then rolled up his sleeves, propping his arms up on the back of the couch. That blasted mark was screaming at her. The first time she'd seen it she wanted to be sick, terrified and full of memories of all the Death Eaters she'd seen. He was positively flaunting it, now! It was etched into his skin, looking like a carving out of wood by a dull knife. The design wasn't smooth or fluid, instead it looked sharp and ragged. It was blacker than the night and looked sickly against his pale skin. He knew this! He could see it in her eyes and she knew that he knew! It was a jab at her, a point for him, a way of asserting his dominance on her. She knew that he was playing games. The mark meant nothing anymore, but there it was, striking fear in her because Draco Malfoy only knew these kinds of games.

"There a problem?" Malfoy raised both eyebrows, a boyish smile on his face. Had it been any other person, it would have been positively charming.

"No." She choked out, ignoring the fact that her voice sounded strained. Her stomach was doing flips, trying to expel her lunch. She swallowed down this fear and defiantly sat opposite him on her own couch. "Any ideas?"

"You are the brains, Granger."

Hermione flared her nostrils with the exhale of breath, her forehead creasing with the strain of her eyebrows, "It has to be in a week. We may as well make it as simple as possible," each word was spoken through a tight jaw, her teeth clenched together.

"Less work is always a plus," the Slytherin added.

Hermione sighed, letting her muscles settle and trying to focus on the work. Yes, Malfoy was dangerous. She was stuck with him. McGonagall had no qualms with him and was determined to defend him in one way or another. She would have to expose him one way or another... or she'd learn to deal with it.

It didn't matter, did it? She'd paid her debt to society by helping in the extinguishing of the most horrific tyrant of all time. She had done her part. Should she put up more of a fight now? What would Malfoy actually do? Would he do anything? She doubted it. 'Less work,' he just said. He wouldn't willing continue the fight if he knew that there was nothing left. He was only going to continue to torture her.

No, she corrected herself. He had expressed his hatred for Dumbledore. He wanted to kill him. He wanted that. He was a killer, whether he'd done it or not. He was more than just a son of a Death Eater. He wasn't just suffering for his parent's mistakes. Malfoy had made his own and he was dangerous. She couldn't let that go, not now.

"What the fuck is going on in that bobble head of yours?" Malfoy's voice slipped past her thoughts, poisoning the images.

"None of your business!" She spat back.

And it began all over again...

Malfoy stood up from the couch, took two steps towards her, grabbed her arm and pulled her up to face him. He was giving off the most potent form of malice she had ever witnessed. She could feel it in her bones, she could see it behind her eyelids when she blinked. For a long moment, they didn't speak and she wandered through her fearful thoughts, preparing herself to pull her wand and hex him. She was waiting for proof that he was still fighting against the side that won. However, her mind also filled with thoughts that she hadn't been expecting. What was he thinking? Was he really going to do anything? Again, she corrected herself, assuring her of his intentions.

"You speak to me like that again and be sure that I will have you cowering on the floor." Malfoy's voice was low, only a sinister rumble in his chest.

"How could they let you be Head Boy?" She asked. It wasn't the question she wanted to ask, but she need to get him to step back, to slow down.

"We've already gone over this, Granger."

This time, she wriggled out of his grasp and shoved him back. Malfoy took two steps back, never fumbling, but rage now settled in on his features. He was brooding, bubbling over with it and had she not lost her own head in the next second, he would have come after her. She stepped once forward, this strange limbo of territory always in play. "You don't do anything. You don't know anything. You don't have any worth here, Malfoy. Your worth is tied up in your missing father and your bumbling mother."

"Say one more thing about my mother and I'll kill you."

"I dare you to try! You know that your value is all tied up in your family name. But you... HA! You've done nothing to make that name better, no matter what side you were fighting on."

"What do you want? Me to prove I can be of some help? Let's start simple. Welcome back banquet... ideas. Hmm..." He tapped a finger mockingly against his chin, "How about this! We can have a remembrance for all your little mates that died. Oh, and we can put up an ice sculpture of your precious savior and then, all night long, we can watch that ice melt into a puddle on the ground. Because we all know that ice sculptures are lovely works of art, envisioned by their designers for something beautiful with purpose, but then their purpose is completed when everyone has left and they've melted into nothing again." Malfoy's voice was the embodiment of terror. He had the depth in his voice and the lower he spoke, the more Hermione was afraid. He wasn't finished and she could sense that whatever he said next, would mar her.

"Potter is just that, Granger. Just a piece of trivia for future students. He came of great design with a beautiful purpose, but he has only one objective; he ends the war and the world moves on. He was a piece of the puzzle, a pawn, a tool and then he was obsolete. Death is all that would ever suit him."

She couldn't recall how it happened or what had compelled her to actually do it; Hermione lifted her right arm, drawing it across her chest, her fingers together, her palm flat and she swung. She backhanded Malfoy, the bone of her knuckles swiping across his cheekbone. His head cracked to the side with the force of the blow, his perfectly set hair falling just in his face. She registered only after she had done it that she was in fact wearing a ring her father had given her for Christmas last year, one that had a raised setting of a ruby and one of the many sharp edges had scraped across his cheek. His flushed skin now sported a red mark where the whole of her hand connected and then a long, thin cut was sliced into his cheek, expelling a weak stream of blood.

Hermione stepped back immediately, her feet hitting the couch and she knew she had no where to go. His reflexes were much too refined for her to get away if she tried to run. She watched his face turn towards her, his eyes screaming murder. He stepped towards her until they couldn't have been standing any closer to each other. They were touching, his face shadowed with his hatred and rage. Hermione was already preparing to flinch even before he raised his arm. She watched his right arm lift, at first an open palm, then a fist. She shut her eyes, preparing herself for the blow. There was no getting out of this and she knew it. She'd take it now and use it as proof of how dangerous he truly was.

There was no blow. There was no looming presence. His body was gone from hers. She opened her eyes just in time to see him take his last couple steps to the door and then slam it behind him. There was no yelling, no physical contact. Hermione stood there, frozen in time for many minutes, waiting for his return. She half expected him to be returning with a weapon, something to beat her with. But he didn't return.

Hermione's shoulders slumped, her body feeling heavy. She lifted her right hand and looked at the back of it. It was red, just as his face had been. She had hit him hard enough that her knuckles hurt. She whimpered as she touched the tender bones, but a few flexes of her fingers and she knew she would be fine. What were her options now? Hide in this room until he returned with a new resolve to burry her? No, she wouldn't wait for him. Instead, she decided that the best way to forget herself was to dive into someone else. Ron would have to do.

Hermione patted her cheeks, making sure to bring some color back into them. She then left her common room. She looked constantly over her shoulder, expecting to be jumped. She never was. She made it to the Gryffindor common room without a hitch and was greeted by Ginny first. Hermione smiled and exchanged hellos.

Somewhere inside her, she was screaming to confess the altercation to someone, but she couldn't make herself speak it. She was held back by some unknown force inside her that asked her not to. Whatever that force was, it was powerful and it knew something she didn't.


	6. Finding Contentment is Short Lived

**Chapter 6: Finding Contentment is Short Lived**

**.**

**.**

**_"Men exist for the sake of one another."_**

**- Marcus Aurelius**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Hermione had been sitting with Ron in silence for fifteen minutes. He was sitting back in a chair beside the fireplace, his eyes turned towards the flame. The light in the room kept his face illuminated well enough for her to examine him. Ron's eyes were sunken in and dark circles had taken up residence below them. His usually peachy colored skin was dull and uninviting. His hair was longer than it had ever been, falling into his eyes and below the nape of his neck at the back. It was a relatively shapeless haircut, or lack of one. The bright copper red strands seemed to be the only thing holding any color around him. It was as though his very presence had sucked the color from the meters around him. Even the red velvet of the chair he sat on seemed to be a shade of grey rather than of burgundy. His pale eyelashes over his blue eyes made him look all the more sickly. He was thin, also. He hadn't eaten much recently and his usually monstrous appetite was a thing of the past. She had to coax him down to breakfast every morning after the end of the war and in the past week he'd missed two morning meals. She always saw him at lunch, but he never lingered.

The toll on Ron's life and personality was much greater than anyone could have anticipated. Hermione vaguely remembered being a little girl and her only friend had moved away. Hermione, at the ripe age of six, felt lost and confused. Lonely was only one half of the emotions she had and at the time, she was just six. It couldn't have taken her more than a week or so to bounce back. She realized quickly that this was a juvenile comparison. It was nothing like losing a friend to a vicious war. She could remember Ron's words after they returned back to Hogwarts. The two of them had been locked in the Headmaster's office, sans Dumbledore, of course. They were there and when Ron finally looked at Hermione, his bright blue eyes locked onto her face, she finally choked over her tears.

They were sitting in chairs apart from each other and for what seemed like an eternity, they stared at each other. Hermione could feel her hair falling into her face, sticking to the wet paths that streaked her face. Ron was wide-eyed, disbelieving. She opened her mouth to speak and he shook his head in a short, rapid fashion, showing her just how strongly he didn't want to hear her speak. For another long, lingering expanse of time they continued to stare until Ron stood up from his chair. He walked over to one of the many cupboards and shelves, running his finger along the edge. Hermione stood before she could have known she was going to and crossed to him, as if anticipating his collapse. It was at that moment that he turned to face her, his eyes spilling over a rush of tears. They were the kind of tears that held so much mourning, so much pain that they could not be coupled with gasping sobs. The pain and tears sucked the life an energy from him, resulting in an ache that transcended every war. He then started to slide to the floor, collapsing onto his knees at first. Hermione dropped down beside him, her arms cradling him to her chest while he limply fell into her. She leaned towards him, fearing that her own strength would give out. His tears wet her already soiled robes while he began to repeat a set of words that at first seemed other worldly. She couldn't make them out, but after some time, it became abundantly clear, and her own floodgate broke wide open.

"He was supposed to survive," he whispered, a repeated phrase over and over, "He was supposed to survive."

Staring at him now, she could see those same words in his downcast eyes. She wanted to help. She really wanted to. She felt herself wishing that more than anything, she could steal his pain, take it herself and let him go free. Ron was not going to be Ron without Harry. Sure, the three of them had been a force to be reckoned with, but Hermione was never one of those two. They had something different and she was happy just to watch them from the outside. She missed their silent interactions and their hair brained plans.

And as if she had no control, Hermione stood from her place on the floor in front of the fireplace and tucked herself onto Ron's lap. The chair wasn't big enough for the two of them, but she would make due. She sat herself there, pulling his arm limply around her shoulders, his other arm on the arm rest of the red wingback chair. She curled into him. He let his arm rest over her shoulders, but did not embrace her. She knew he would need a moment. This was more for him than it was for her, though she did find a certain amount of contentment here. Then, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder tighter, pulling her to his chest and resting his cheek against the top of her head. Hermione shut her eyes, inhaling against his shirt, a wash of pain and familiarity engulfing her. She knew how badly this hurt him and her. They weren't the cuddly kind of friends. She loved him and he her, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. There was a time that she would have taken him as a boyfriend, but with the summer's events, she felt that there was something that kept them apart. She wouldn't push anything for fear that whatever it was would be detrimental to their already straining friendship. It was much to easy to just be like this, comfort for the other on a platonic level while they sorted themselves out.

Ron's hand that had previously been resting on the armrest took to idly toying with her hand that was on her own lap. She didn't think much of it other than being a distraction for Ron. It gave him something to do while he avoided his pain. She wouldn't stop him since it was so harmless. He turned her hand this way and that, examining and stretching her fingers. He then flipped her hand over, palm up and looked down. Hermione had her head rested on his shoulder and was looking at what he was doing with half closed eyes.

"Why do you have a bruise on your wrist?" Ron spoke for the first time. His voice was deep and gravely from lack of use.

Hermione looked down and saw immediately what he was looking at. Only the last night had she had her spat with Malfoy. He'd taken hold of her wrist, threatening her with the tightening of his caloused hand around her wrist. She remembered the pain she felt as he pressed his rough fingers into the soft spot under the tendons of her wrist. Now she realized that she had been bruised and completely forgot to glamour the wounds.

"I don't know." she lied effectively, though Ron seemed more preoccupied by her wrist than her words.

"These are shaped..." he drifted off, pulling her wrist up into better light and examined it in detail, "These are shaped like fingers. Did you get in a fight with someone?" Ron had turned to look her in the eyes finally, his brow creased while he stared into her brown eyes with his blue. She wavered internally and he seemed to recognize that.

"No, I don't know what those are from. Maybe, I was having a nightmare in the middle of the night..." this time her own voice drifted, her eyes still on him until she couldn't hold his gaze any longer without blurting out the truth.

His eyes watched her with suspicion and she could feel it burning through her, directly to her soul. She knew she couldn't resist his glare. Ever since Harry's death, they'd become very aware of each other in this way. She knew all of his looks and quirks, all the things that would indicate a breakdown. Ron had become the expert in Hermione's mannerisms and such related things. She knew he could see her lies as though they were written in her freckles.

"If something is going on, I want you to come to me." Ron spoke evenly, no indication of emotion other than the extension of a helping hand. Hermione could only nod at him. He drilled one more look of severity into her, receiving a more adamant nod from her before he broke the gaze.

She took the opportunity to lean into him again, her head resting against his shoulder, her breath being caught against his neck and collar. She let her eyes drift shut and he leaned his cheek against her hair. His hand continued to toy with her fingers, an idle and unthinking action. She was feeling a flurry of things in her chest. That all too familiar ache, the weight of the world pressing down on her became evident and only grew stronger over the next few minutes. She curled tightly against him, Ron taking this as a gentle cue and pulled her tighter to him.

She noted how much he'd grown up. He had to; they all did. Ron, however, had matured by leaps and bounds. No one could say that he had it easy or that he'd been selfish in his changes. No, he suddenly was preparing his life to take care of his family, knowing that their own grief was making it difficult on them. He'd all too many times taken Hermione under his wing, pretending that there was something worth saving. She hadn't told him everything she'd felt, everything she'd found. She dreamed regularly about he war and she hated to do anything to disturb Ron's sleep by telling him her nightmares. Of course, there was the delightful chance that he was not sleeping his best either. At any rate, coming into the common room to bother him was not going to serve as a solution at all.

For now, sitting quietly in each other's presence was just going to have to do. She wasn't the kind of person to do this at all, but she was finding the complexities of the human mind to be more than anyone else could have informed her. While she wasn't a very cuddly person herself, she found that by comforting Ron in this way, she felt her own spirits perk up. It gave her a sense of relief that she could be of some kind of help even when the world was still crumbling around them... or moving on without them. Whichever one felt was worse.

The two of them sat together for an hour or so. It served its purpose and after some time they were able to begin to talk again. They chose to talk of nothing important, assuming that it would make it much easier if they avoided the obvious subjects. They talked about their classes and their work load. They talked about their new responsibilities as Prefect and Head Girl. Ron was having an easy time of it. So far he hadn't had any night patrols and he was dreading having to do one at all. The castle had always creeped him out, but she knew that she had to assign him a night patrol. However, she could also assign her own. This guaranteed that they could patrol together. They needed to find their time to be alone since they couldn't get enough privacy. The school was positively nuts with the youngest Weasley boy. He was the best mate of The Boy Who Live, he had helped win the war, he had joined up in a fight that would be sung throughout the ages. Hermione had her fair share of mentions, but it seemed that they were all more interested in the ginger.

This was just another reason that Ron had taken to hiding. He was able to do it the first week. All of the professors were going easy on Ron and Hermione. His duties were lighter this week and she would wait until the initial fascination fizzled out around the halls. Then they would be able to get back to work as they should. Everyone knew that teenagers didn't hold their interest that long, so it would soon loose it's appeal. Ron never said any of this, but Hermione knew. Maybe he'd start to like night patrols merely because there would be less students around. He could avoid the crowds that way. She would do anything she could to help him get through this. She knew he would never fully recover, but she also knew he wasn't lost just yet. There had to be a way.

"Let's go get supper, Ron." Hermione finally interrupted their silence, effectively interrupting her thoughts as well. He nodded in response and she climbed off of his lap, holding out her hands to him. He took them and stood up and then crushed her against his chest in a strong embrace.

"Thanks, Hermione." He whispered against her mass of hair. Hermione just smiled to herself, knowing that there was nothing else that needed to be said.

They walked hand in hand to the Great Hall, only separating their intertwined fingers before entering. They didn't need any more rumors flying around about them. When they arrived, a few sets of eyes watched them move through to their table. They sat in the only open spaces beside each other across from Ginny, who was looking more upset tonight than she had been recently. She looked up and nodded at them, a short smile gracing her lips before turning back to pushing the food around on her plate with her fork. Hermione looked over to Ron momentarily. She could read how concerned he was just by the way he was looking at his baby sister, but then he looked to Hermione and shrugged. Neither of them knew if it was just one of those days with Ginny or if she'd been provoked today.

Hermione began filling her plate with more food than she knew she'd eat. Ron was doing the same. While she did this, she looked around the room. She noted that most of the professors were at their table. Headmistress McGonagall was not, however. She was often missing from the table, but something told Hermione that something was wrong. She noted that the newest addition to staff, Professor Hurshwing, was also missing. That woman was a curious person, indeed.

Trinity Hurshwing was a woman who looked as though she was always in pain. Her lips were constantly pursed together, her eyes narrowed with one eyebrow up in an accusing manner. She kept her long, brown and grey streaked hair pulled back into a tight bun on the back of her head. Hermione knew that this was not the most comfortable way to wear your hair. The woman had a strange walk, also. She walked straight forward, one foot in front of the other, her hands always clasped in front of her at the base of her sternum. Hermione had yet to see her in a color other than deep jewel tones underneath her black robes. She wore sensible black shoes with a slight heel to them that clicked against the stone floors. It only seemed fitting that this was the woman who now was head of the Slytherin house.

Hermione, with another question coming to mind, looked over her shoulder at the furthest table. The Slytherins all seemed to be huddled and whispering. She watched a message begin at one end of the table, being passed on with lips to the next ear and hand up to guard from excess noise. It continued on down the table, each time it warranted a gasp and another pass of the story. She had no idea what they were talking about, but she knew that by time it got to it's final destination, it would be nothing like what it was when it started. Her eyes scanned the table of malicious witches and wizards, her eyes locking onto Pansy Parkinson's at one point. There was a silent duel of wits that ensued. Pansy stared, her eyes unfeeling, but strangely angry. Hermione furrowed her brows and looked around again, noting that the Head Boy was curiously missing from the table.

Hermione hadn't seen him since he left their common room. She hadn't been looking for him and she figured that he probably stormed off into the dungeons and then would resurface when he felt like it. Surely he had told Pansy that he had been hit by Hermione, which would explain the glare she was receiving. Ah, yes, that could explain the whispering and now the strange feeling that a table's worth of eyes were on her. Hermione swallowed back her unconscious embarrassment and looked up to Ginny, who had her fork in hand, her blue eyes watching just behind Hermione.

"Why are the Slytherin's staring at you, Hermione?" Ginny spoke loud enough that a few other Gryffindors looked between their Head Girl and the far table. Hermione felt her cheeks burn red and she slumped down, taking a swift bite of some food and ignoring their looks.

Beside her, Ron looked over his shoulder to see that they were in fact being stared at. He looked back to his friend, "Hermione?"

That use of her name meant that he was serious and she looked over at Ron, "I don't know. I'm sure Malfoy is just spreading rumors. He likes to do that, you know." Her voice was sharp and defensive.

"Malfoy isn't even over there." Ginny was straining her neck to get a good look over Hermione's head, "Nope, definitely not over there."

"Hermione." This time Ron wasn't asking, but demanding she answer him.

Hermione huffed, slamming her fork down on the table and stood up, "I don't know!" she glowered down at Ron, his eyes unfeeling at her outburst, "Why does it matter? They are staring. Big deal!"

With that said, she left the table, stalking out of the Great Hall, a rush of whispers filling the room behind her. She knew they were talking about her. They were always talking about her. There was nothing that could make this any worse than it was. She was going to be in the eyes of the school for the rest of the year. She knew that this is what she had signed up for when she was appointed Head Girl, but she hadn't expected it to be this hard. Didn't they understand that she had lost her best friend? Couldn't they see how tired she was? Their speculation and their blasted whispers were going to kill her. Or perhaps she'd kill them first.

Her trip to her common room took only a few minutes. The third floor was silent as it usually was when she arrived. She was regretting coming here first, since she knew that if Malfoy wasn't in the dungeons, he was here. She considered leaving again, but she didn't want to return to Gryffindor's common room and she didn't want to go to the library. She wanted her own space where she could feel safe. There wasn't a place like that here. The library had always been her sanctuary, but something about it wasn't calling to her tonight.

As she approached the double doors into the Head Quarters, she saw that the door was cracked open, letting a stream of golden light streak across the stone hall. She approached it slowly, tip toeing as to not make more noise than needed. When she was close enough, she could hear a voice. Hermione narrowed her eyes and stood just by the open door out of sight over whoever was inside.

"Mister Malfoy, I will not have this kind of thing coming from our Head Boy, let alone a seventh year Slytherin!" The brittle voice was far too familiar and Hermione recognized it immediately as Professor Hurshwing. "I will have you stripped of this position if you don't behave yourself. We all know that this is a delicate thing to have you here in the first place, considering the amount of secrecy you've demanded regarding your al–"

"Yes, I get it." Malfoy interrupted, his tone much harsher than he should be able to get away with. "I get it."

"Good. I expect you to act with more poise, Mister Malfoy. I'm not sure how much we can put up with your nonsense." Professor Hurshwing hissed at him. Hermione then heard the scraping of a shoe on the floor followed by footsteps. Hermione jumped back from the door, pretending that she was going to be entering.

The door swung open wide and Hermione's shocked face was met with the sour look of the new Potions professor. Hermione inhaled deeply and Hurshwing took that as enough of a response before walking off. Hermione immediately walked into the common room, retracting any emotion from her face and holding her shoulders back. She wasn't sure what kind of mood Malfoy would be in, but whatever it was, she had to be prepared to take it. She planned on walking straight past him into her dorm and not bothering with anything else. However, she couldn't help but to look at him and what she saw had her stopped in her tracks.

Malfoy was slouched low on his couch, his face looking down at his lap. He hadn't even looked up at her, though he seemed to have perked up and recognized that she was there. He finally looked up though his lashed at her and Hermione swallowed. There was massive amount of blood that was streaked across his mouth and the left side of his face. The right side of his face was still sporting the clean cut her ring had left on his cheek earlier that day. Now it was sharing space with a newly bruising eye. In addition, his knuckles were covered in crusted blood and she had the thought that it might not even be his own blood. Hermione's mouth had dropped open.

"Malfoy..." she said weakly, crossing the room and crouching in front of him, throwing all of her logic out the window, "What happened?"


	7. The Fight's Gone Out of Me

**Chapter 7: The Fight's Gone Out Of Me**

**.**

**.**

**_"The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury."_  
- Marcus Aurelius**

**.**

**.**

Oh, how badly he wanted to rip that little shit's arm out of her socket. He could have torn her into a thousand pieces and scattered it over the grounds, laughing at her insolence. She was asking for him to beat the life out of her body. She would bleed, that mudb–

He wouldn't. He wouldn't do anything. When he lifted his arm, his hand curling into a tightly bound fist, he saw her eyes shut, her body brace for his attack that she knew he would bestow on her. She was expecting it, yet it never came. If he would just do something other than wait for her to wince. Dammit! If he had just hit her immediately before he could see that fear etched into her posture than he would have. But no! He waited, he saw and he retreated. His hesitance had cost him yet another chance to beat the living shit out of someone who deserved it.

Draco left a blazing trail as he stalked out of the room. He didn't wait to hear anything she'd have to say. He was only glad that she wasn't following him. He carved out a path through the halls, crossing a group of giggling Huffelpuffs. He shoved through them, knocking two of them out of his way and crashing into the others of the group. One yelled, 'Hey!' and the other cursed as well as a cacophony of mutterings from the rest of the fluffy group of students. He wasn't going to wait for them to throw daggers or try and insult him. He didn't care enough to listen, anyways. They weren't worth his time.

Yet, he was still screaming from the inside. He needed to hit something, curse something, cause pain to someone else. Draco dragged the heel of his hand roughly up his cheek. The place where she'd hit him stung and when he looked at his hand, he saw that it was smeared with bright crimson blood. It was a weak stream, but the sight had his vision blurred with rage. He clenched all over, dragging his hand down his robes and wiping it haphazardly. He was going to go blind with this fury if he didn't find a way to get it out of him and soon. His mind was on one track and he knew that he needed to figure out how to derail this. He wandered, constantly bumping into students, working his way through the castle. He stalked the halls for an eternity. In all this time, he wasn't cooling off. The best conclusion he had was to head to the dungeons and the Slytherin common room. There was always little prick students there looking for a fight.

It took him no time at all with his long strides to make it to common room. When he entered, he was hit with a wave of shock. There were plenty of students around, but something was amiss. His hands immediately unclenched and he walked into the room further, spotting his own crew in the corner, huddled around a fireplace. Draco's eyes furrowed and he towards them cautiously. Pansy Parkinson looked as though she'd been crying, her eyes were puffy and red. Blaise Zabini was gritting his jaw like Draco had seen so often. That boy's emotions were impossible to gauge. No matter what had happened, Zabini was clenched and flexed, completely tense. Theo Nott looked completely uninterested in whatever was going on. Draco noted that the elder Greengrass was on the other side of the room with her younger sister. Millicent Blustrode was sitting on the floor with her knees to her chest. In all of this, he was worried, but when he finally got a look at Greg Goyle, he realized that something was very wrong. Goyle's eyes were glossed over as though he was in a daze. He was wringing his hands together and his brow was creased. Something was really wrong.

"What–" Draco started, before he even got over to them. He was suddenly grabbed by slender fingers and yanked back, "the fuck..." he muttered turning to see the ever alluring Daphne pulling at him.

"Don't you dare go over there unless you plan on keeping that mouth shut." the girl's voice was icy. He dark eyes were nearly black as she glared at him. Draco wretched his arm out of her grasp.

"What are you talking about?" He demanded in hushed tones.

Daphne stood on her toes to look over his shoulder at the solemn group. She redirected her attention to him and sighed, "Gregory just found out that his mother had been taken in by the ministry. She was given veritaserum and spilled some information..." the girl paused and Draco shot her an impatient look, "Mrs. Goyle is fine, her husband is still missing, but the result of this capture seems to have caused some waves."

"Get to the point, Daphne."

"A few days after, which is today, they found Vincent's father dead. Something happened, something was said and someone went after Mr. Crabbe. Vincent and his mother are still missing though... hopefully alive." Daphne swallowed hard, biting back emotion.

Daphne Greengrass had always been the poised one in the group. Pansy was fluttery and immature, Millicent was dark and somewhat terrifying. Daphne upheld her pureblood standards. Even now as she relayed this most troubling information, she was composed.

Draco clenched his jaw, his teeth mashed together until he felt it ache into his temples. His hand were curled again into tight fists, the throbbing in his head heightening by the second. Anyone who was a part of their year knew that Vincent Crabbe was in a world of hurt. His association with the Death Eaters was deep and his mother, who feared genuinely for her son's life, had taken off into hiding immediately after the fall of the Dark Lord. No one had seen or heard from him since that night. Draco knew that his own pain for his missing friend was nothing compared to what Greg felt. They were inseparable. They had been bumbling idiots before, but they grew up over the past two years, finding their own niche. Their friendship was something that Draco hadn't seen in a set of Slytherins before. Hell, they put up with his shit all the time. They even enjoyed it.

The news that Crabbe was missing and his father was dead was disturbing. It meant that someone knew where they were and if that was true, they were in danger. The search for the remaining followers was in full force, especially now that they didn't have to concern themselves with the wrath of the Dark Lord themselves. The Aurors and Ministry were aggressive about their searches and if someone had come across the patriarch of the Crabbe family, he knew that they wouldn't hesitate to kill him. It was death or Azkaban and so far, Draco couldn't see the difference.

"What happened to your face?" Daphne interrupted his thoughts.

He glared down his nose at her, "That little bitch hit me."

Daphne gasped audibly, a few eyes turning to face them, "Why!?"

"I told her that her little hero was only any good dead." Draco said it so coolly that most people would have thought he was talking about the weather.

"Draco..." Daphne's voice dropped off at the end. It was either a warning or a disappointed utterance of his name.

"What, Daphne? Gonna tell me I shouldn't have said it? That bastard ruined all of our lives and he's still got those groupies of his around to remind us of what we don't have anymore." Draco raised his voice, the whole common room now watching, "At least the Weasel is so damaged he doesn't even talk. The little fucker..."

Daphne stayed silent, looking up at him through dark eyelashes and those irises like black holes. He dared her to say anything with his eyes. Draco knew how he felt. He hated that hero trip Potter had been on his whole life. He was set up to be that way. Potter had been born the hero, born the savior of a generation of suffering prats. He didn't need saving from that poor excuse for a wizard. He wasn't worth the time, the space. He should have been left in the muggle home he was in. At least then, none of them would have to be near him, reminded of how no one would live up to The Boy Who Lived.

"Draco." This time Daphne was calling him out of his thoughts, a gently touch to his arm.

Draco shoved away from her, stepping back a few steps from her. She seemed shocked momentarily, but understood his frustration. Draco hadn't lost more than any of the other students in Slytherin. He wasn't the only one with a broken family and haunted dreams. He knew that his life had been changed forever and he knew more than anything, that this wasn't going to get any better. It could only get worse. More families would be torn apart, more lives destroyed, more bodies found.

"I don't need to remind you... any of you, that we are our only allies. The rest of the world thinks we've committed the crimes, the crimes of our fathers. These sins are not our own; you all fucking know that. We're going to suffer for all of that misguided attention our parents gave us." Draco was speaking for the collective of Slytherins and though some of them were untouched by the speech, he saw a few nodding heads.

His raging need to hit something came back full force and he left the common room immediately. He was nearly out of the dungeons when he heard a few steps. He looked over his shoulder, seeing Nott and Zabini trailing him. Either they were following him to see what he would do next or they had poor timing. The two of them knew when Draco was on a war path. Draco had the highest temper in the school and the whole of Slytherin knew to stay out of his way, but Zabini and Nott knew all too well that when he was in a murderous mood, Draco was out for blood and there would be a fight to stop.

Draco ignored them, though. All he needed was a few good hits and he'd be able to relax again. As he turned up the final stairs out of the dungeon, he found his way out of the front doors and to the courtyard. He was greeted with a biting cold wind, but he was set in his path. He'd long decided that the first man he came across who could hold his own would be his target. He immediately spotted Anthony Goldstein at the far side talking to some unknown Ravenclaw. The sneer that spread across Draco's face could make a Dementor cower.

"Hey Goldstein!" he cat called, "I hear your girlfriend spread her legs in front of the Gryffindor Quidditch team... all at once!" It was a shot in the dark, considering he had no idea if he even had a girlfriend, but even if he had some girl he had a crush on, the boy should blow a gasket.

"Malfoy, you little..." Draco's mouth curled up at the corner at the slur of crude insults that streamed from the Ravenclaw's mouth. _Bull's eye._

The two were stalking towards each other, both of them prepared for collision. As they stalked closer to each other, Goldstein's fist clenched and her drew his arm back, preparing to have it crush in Malfoy's face. Too bad Draco was quicker. Draco distracted him by raising his right arm, knowing that in Goldstein's rage, he wouldn't remember that Malfoy was left handed. Goldstein tried to dodge and throw a fist at the same time, but Draco wound up his left arm and cracked his knuckles across the offending Ravenclaw's jaw. Anthony stumbled back momentarily.

"Fuck, that felt good!" Draco called out to no one in particular. He could hear Nott and Zabini trying to talk him out of this somewhere behind him, but he'd have none of that. "Goldstein, you better be better prepared than that, mate." When Goldstein rose up again, Draco threw another punch, hitting him in the temple. There was a wonderful ache in his knuckles now and he looked down to survey the damage Goldstein's face was doing to them.

He stupidly looked up, immediately recognizing his error and seeing Goldstein throw his own punch directly to the bridge of his nose. Draco felt the bone crack and he was instantly bleeding, gushing down over his mouth and off his chin. He absently liked the corner of his mouth and wound up again, but Goldstein beat him to it, striking him this time in the temple. Draco cursed, stood up and this time punched him in the gut. Goldstein doubled over and Draco grabbed the collar of his robes, pulling him up and hitting him again, only releasing him in time so that he fell to the ground. Draco dropped to straddle his torso, preparing to beat him into the ground. Goldstein suddenly shoved the heel of his hand up again Draco's cheek and eye. Draco cursed again and immediately began to pound into him.

At this point, Draco's mind was hazed over. The rage he felt had taken him over the edge. Rage against his father, rage against the Dark Lord, rage against whoever killed Crabbe's father and whoever thought it was a good idea for Draco to return to this blasted school! There was nothing left for him in this world and he was beating Goldstein as though it would return it all to the beginning again. He only had a few moments of this before he felt arms pulling him up and back, forcing him to his feet. Draco flailed against them, trying to pull out, but he couldn't get free. Goldstein was writhing on the floor, clutching his face and groaning. Draco smiled through a mouth full of blood, satisfied with his work. Yes, he definitely needed that.

Over the next ten minutes, Draco was dragged out of the courtyard by Zabini and Nott, scolded by both, swooned over by Pansy when she finally made her way up to the entry. He was then promptly dragged off by his arm by the new Head of House, Trinity Hurshwing. The woman was exactly like the other professors. She was bossy and nagging, she had a knack for knowing exactly how to get at a student's nerves, which Draco attributed to her pure, Slytherin blood. She was every bit a Slytherin, from the way she walked and looked to the dark, brooding jeers she threw at her students. She was equally mean to every house, though she was less likely to punish a Slytherin. What would Hogwarts be without bias? Draco exhaled a weak chuckle at the thought.

He was dragged off to the Head Quarters as opposed to the infirmary. He should have know that Hurshwing would deny him medical attention; she probably saw it as a fair trade for starting a fight. She shoved him back until he was sitting on the couch in the common room, leaned back with his hands on his knees. He could feel and tasted the blood dripping from his nose. Hurshwing snarled at him and pulled out a handkerchief and held it out to him.

"Wipe your face. You look like barbarian." She watched with raised eyebrows as Draco defiantly lifted his left arm and wiped the sleeve of his robe under his nose, smearing the blood up over his left cheek. "Mister Malfoy..." she had her lips pulled tightly together, a fury burning in her eyes as she tucked the handkerchief back in her pocket.

There was a pause that let the silence between them quiver in fear. Draco was openly defying her and she was challenging him. When neither of them spoke, Hurshwing gave in.

"What in the world were you thinking?" She demanded. He didn't answer, but glared at her through stormy eyes. "You severely injured Mister Goldstein, caused a riot in the courtyard and there's no denying what happened! You could have at least found a corner to fight him in if that was the problem instead of making a spectacle out of yourself!" Draco smirked at her, raising an eyebrow. Was she allowing him to fight if he kept it hidden? He could make that work.

"Don't look at me like that. I won't have you causing riots and engaging in treacherous behavior!" She yelled.

"Treacherous? How was that treason!?" he finally yelled back, leaning forward.

"We have granted you clemency, Mister Malfoy, I expect you to uphold that. You are Head Boy! You are no longer a Slytherin man, but rather one of the collective here at the school! You uphold something greater than that and you have disrupted the already unstable balance!"

"Oh, so I am not a Slytherin anymore?"

"Not in that way, Mister Malfoy. You represent something much bigger than that. You are a redeemed–"

"No! I am just holding a position at a school that stupidly took me back." Draco snapped back, interrupting her train of thought.

"Is that how you feel? That you don't deserve to be here? Yet, here you are, Mister Malfoy. You are here, in this common room. I was there at your debriefing; I know your secrets."

Draco snarled up at her. The woman dared to remind him of just after the last battle. How could she expect him to respect her if she insisted on bringing this up. "I won't discuss this."

With any other student, Hurshwing would have assigned detentions for the rest of the year, however, she felt for the boy and Draco hated that she did. He wished she'd treat him like any other student, because that's what he wanted. Why did they all have to tip toe around him, show him off and pretend he was something amazing. He wasn't Potter.

"At any rate," she started up again, her voice had come down a notch, "Mister Malfoy, I will not have this kind of thing coming from our Head Boy, let alone a seventh year Slytherin! I will have you stripped of this position if you don't behave yourself. We all know that this is a delicate thing to have you here in the first place, considering the amount of secrecy you've demanded regarding your al–"

"Yes, I get it." _Don't you dare say it, you bitch._

"Good. I expect you to act with more poise, Mister Malfoy. I'm not sure how much we can put up with your nonsense," she hissed and then promptly turned on her heel and stalked out. He heard her paused outside the door and dropped his head.

He sighed heavily and was immediately interrupted by more footsteps. It irked him to no end how he knew that it was Granger just by the gate of her step. He'd become too familiar with her habits since he'd been cataloguing them in order to avoid her at all costs. He did everything to avoid being the same room as her since each time they ended up on the verge of killing each other. She gasped then and his shoulders slumped.

Before he could understand anything, he was looking up at her and she was crossing the room.

"Malfoy..." her eyes were full of questions when she crouched in front of him. He half expected her to touch him, but she kept her hands away and just held her balance carefully, "What happened?"

Was that her favorite question? Did she always have to know what happened even if it wasn't any of her business? Perhaps it could be her business. He was on that whirlwind of rage because she hit him. Then again, he did bait her, just like he baited Goldstein. Was this becoming a theme? Was he out to get himself hit and beaten? No, he couldn't rightfully express that this was what he was looking to do, at least not consciously.

Draco stared blankly at the small girl in front of him. She seemed to recognize that he wasn't going to answer her and she stood up. He hoped that this would be the end of it and that she would just disappear. But he was wrong. She did disappear into her dorm, but shortly came out with a basin her hand and a couple of towels draped over her forearm. _Oh, fuck no. She isn't going to coddle me, now. No fucking way._

Granger set everything down of the floor and sat on her knees in front of him. She seemed determined and Draco had planned on fighting her, but he couldn't find the words to fight her off. He was starting to feel dizzy from being hit so many times. He was actually glad that Goldstein could throw a punch. Otherwise the fight wouldn't have done much for him. He needed it to be a challenge, he needed a guy that would get back up.

Draco came out of his daze when he realized that Granger was talking. God she was always talking.

"...with you, but I just can't see what that would do for the situation at hand. I knew something had to be up since your entire table seemed to be glaring daggers at me during dinner, but I didn't think much else about it. It's not unlike them to stare. At any rate, don't fuss or I'll render you motionless and we both know I can." She was looking down at her hand, ringing out one of the towels in the basin before looking up.

"What are you talking about?" he snapped at her, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees this time. He had very little fight left in him at this point.

"I should be angrier with you. You did insult my best friend and the only man who could take down the blasted Lord of Evil. Don't bleed on the couch." She was snippy back at him and he was tempted to smack her upside the head. "Now, don't move."

Draco's immediately response was the lean back. Granger shot him a look and stood on her knees, reaching out and taking his jaw roughly in her small hand. He groaned, feeling how his jaw was deliciously sore. Goldstein must have hit him more than he realized. This was a fight to go down in the books. Granger then took the towel with her other hand and began to gently, but not too gently, dab at his face. She first took to the smeared blood on his left side and Draco squeezed his eyes shut. He was bruised badly and he knew it. She let out a sigh and pulled back, releasing his face. Draco opened his eyes again and saw that she was ringing out the cloth again, staining the water in the basin red. He leaned forward this time and she didn't grab his jaw when she sat back to deal with him.

It was a strangely calm moment and the moments that followed while the Head Girl tended to his wounds. She muttered the whole time, saying stupid things and remarks that he paid no attention to because he flat out didn't give a shit. When she'd cleaned all the blood off of him, she pulled out her wand and cast a spell to purify the water again. She then cast another spell, turning it into cubes of ice. She loaded a hand full into the towel and held it out to him.

"Hold this to your nose." She commanded, her voice much softer than he'd heard this entire time they were in each other's presence at Hogwarts this year. Draco took the towel and held it to his nose. It wasn't very cold yet, but the longer it was in contact, the colder it got. He felt like his nose was stuffed up and there was an aching pressure that was radiating into his eye sockets. His head ached and he looked at Granger, who was still sitting back on her knees on the floor in front of him.

"You really should have gone to the Hospital Wing." she stated matter-of-factly.

"Then why didn't you send me there?" Draco retorted quickly. This seemed to stump her. She clenched her jaw, the muscles pulsing and her lips were pursed together. She maintained eye contact while she let the wheels turn in the that arrogant skull. He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for a response.

She finally sighed and began to stand, picking up the basin and soiled towel. She turned away from him and took a few steps before looking back over her shoulder, "It serves you right to have those bruises, anyways. I'd rather like to see you suffer for whatever trouble you seemed to have gotten in. Besides, that cut along your cheek becomes you." And without another look back, she disappeared behind her door.

"Snarky little mu–" Draco's face contorted in anger, ever muscle straining, "Bitch."

.

-----

.

I am SO sorry for the delay! I've got two chapters to update for you today! I owe it to you! I guess it's what you get for having a work in progress. Occasionally the motivation and creative juice clog and you've got to get the plunger. That was a terrible metaphor. I'm so sorry for that visual. Please enjoy! Let me know what you think of our darling Draco's fight.


	8. The Very Real Emotional Response

**Chapter 8: The Very Real Emotional Response**

**.**

**.**

** _"The art of living is more like wrestling than dancing."_  
- Marcus Aurelius**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Sleep did not come easily, that night. She shouldn't have expected it to, not with her recent track record. She'd been failing to sleep at all and these quarters were nothing like the warm and inviting dorms of Gryffindor tower. She was missing the laughter that rang out in the red and gold decorated halls. She missed having giggling roommates for the nights that Ron and Harry were being particularly annoying. It wasn't unlike them to drive her up the walls and she always knew the Lavender and Parvati would be there to ease her nerves. Even the solitude of the library was less inviting these days. Nothing seemed the same.

Hermione had a few theories about why this school seemed so empty. The first was obvious; with the lack of the grand Harry Potter, there was little else to focus on. She'd spent so much time helping him, making sure he was safe and doing his research that she knew this year would be the hardest yet. She now had all the time she needed to do her school work and tend to her Head Girl duties, but there were no distractions. She'd come to be familiar with the interruptions of the day with every one of Harry's new problems that cropped up. She was hardly aware of how much she'd enjoyed the adventure before. She supposed it mostly had to do with it being that she was running for her life. She still couldn't conceive having it any other way.

The other possibility was that the walls were tainted and the ill conceived Dark Magic still lingered. She hadn't been there for it, but she knew that there had been a great battle that took place in the halls. The school was turned into a battle ground and the world, for those few hours, was upside down. The school that once stood for unity in individuals and the learning of the greatest forces was now overrun with devastating memories of death and bloodshed. She couldn't find the happiness in the walls anymore and she so often caught herself reaching out to touch a stone wall, making sure that it was still there; still alive. The castle was so much more than it was given credit for. It was a source of great magic and of great legacy. Harry was a part of that, too.

Perhaps, in the end, the emptiness she felt was a combination of both.

With Monday morning well on it's way, she found herself doing a successful job of avoiding Malfoy. She entered the Great Hall for breakfast and found herself there before Ron, but Ginny was waving her over. Hermione puffed out her chest, taking a few deep breaths to face the day and sat herself beside Ginny. She could feel the burning sensation she always got when she knew the Slytherin table was glaring at her, but she was learning to dull the sensation with will power. This was not going to be easily forgotten, it seemed.

"Have you seen Malfoy?" Ginny whispered leaning in towards Hermione and then looking up, across the room to the Slytherin table. Hermione followed her gaze to the blonde at the other table. Malfoy's head was faced down for a moment and she couldn't get a good look. Just as Hermione had sense the others looking at her, she knew Malfoy had felt her and looked up. Even from across the room she could see just how bruised he looked. His eye was nearly black around the rim and onto his cheekbone. His nose was swollen and few hues of purple and yellow. Then, standing out like a red ribbon on white satin was a clean cut across his right cheek; that was Hermione's own doing. And there it was; that weight on her chest, pressing the breath from her lungs, the reminder that she lived still.

"Of course I saw him." Hermione huffed, her eyes still locked with Malfoy's. She broke the stare first. "I saw him last night. I had to keep him from bleeding on the couch. What did happen? He never told me."

"Didn't you notice that one of our prefects are missing? Anthony Goldstein is in the Hospital Wing. It seems Malfoy beat the crap out of him, although Anthony was sure to get in a few good hits of his own." Ginny snickered at this, proud that the Ravenclaw prefect had gotten in some lasting hits.

"Provoked?" Hermione had begun scooping scrambled eggs onto her plate, but looked up discreetly through her bangs to look across the room. She couldn't quite tell where or what he was looking at.

"I'm not sure how. There's too many rumours floating around to tell which is true. I'm going to assume that it was some jab that struck a nerve. I just don't know why he would do it." Hermione nodded, her eyes on her eggs while she pushed them around her plate before settling on actually eating them.

She considered a few things during this time. Why would he provoke Anthony? They hardly came in contact with each other otherwise. If Malfoy provoked him, he was trying to get a rise out of him. Malfoy, from what she knew, had never been caught for being in a fight before. She could derive that this had to do with Malfoy overpowering the other student's he did get in a fight with and then threatening them to keep them from saying much else about it. Then, a strange thought struck her. Could he have been picking a fight to hide the cut? She had left a noticable streak across his face after hitting him and only hours later did she find him beaten further. Maybe he was looking for a fight to get into so that he could cover the fact that she'd marked him. It was plausible, but not enough for her to voice her opinion to anyone else on the matter. As far as she knew, no one else knew that she had hit him. The glares from the Slytherin table yesterday had her wondering if they knew, though.

"Where are you today, Hermione?" Ginny's voice broke her thoughts and she looked over at her after pushing away her nearly full plate.

"Nowhere. I just have a lot on my mind. Where's Ron?" She effectively tried to change the subject.

"Slept in. He doesn't sleep enough and I figured that he should just be left sleeping if he can get it. He'll make it to classes though."

Hermione just nodded her understanding and stood to leave, bidding her goodbye. She made it all the way to the door and just outside it into the hall before looking up and finding that she was in a dangerously close proximity to Malfoy, yet again. This time, her grabbed hold of her upper arm in a bruising grip. She started to open her mouth to shriek her objection, but he walked her swiftly around a corner and shoved her away from him, further down the hall. In complete shock, Hermione stood her ground, staring at him with wide brown eyes. He walked closer to her, taking one last look over his shoulder. The all too familiar weight on her chest, had her wanting to collapse onto the stone floors. For whatever reason, she felt the sensation that she was not safe. Hermione was still certain that deep down, Draco Malfoy was a killer.

"What did you tell Weasley?" he demanded darkly.

"How dare you grab me and start interrogating me!?"

Draco stalked closer, "What did you tell her?"

Hermione considered screaming, slapping him and running away before she gave in all too easily. Something about the silver-blue eyes that were focused under furrowed brows had all her will-power and courage drained out of her and onto the floor. "I didn't say anything."

"Than why you were staring at me?"

"Paranoid?"

"Why!?" He yelled at her, leaning in so that she took an unsteady step backwards.

"She wanted to know if I'd seen you since... since..." she gestured towards his bruised face with a limp hand, "since all that! I told her I had and she proceeded to tell me that you had it in for Anthony!"

"He was asking for it." Had Hermione not known any better, those five words brewed a convincing lie, and she would have believed it.

"From what I understand, you had it in for him."

Malfoy's expression twisted through the stages of rage before settling on annoyance. Even so, the tensed muscles around his eyes looked as though they stung under the pressure with the severe bruising. She wanted to suggest he go to Madame Pomfrey, but she knew it would be fruitless. Besides, she rather liked knowing that she could see the result of the pain someone else had inflicted on him.

"We have a meeting with McGonagall in her classroom at four about the banquet theme." Malfoy's voice sounded much calmer than his face said.

"Oh, no." Hermione gasped, "What are we going to–"

"I don't give a shit." Before she could finished the sentence, Malfoy expressed his indifference and then punctuated it by walking away from her down the corridor and hanging a right. She was left, now leaning heavily on a nearby wall, alone with her thoughts and fears. Not only did she have no idea what to do about the banquet, but she was also literally trembling. She hadn't noticed before since they were previously fighting and her adrenaline had surely spiked, but it felt different than just that. It was that realization that made her more uncomfortable than anything.

Hermione's heart dropped into her stomach as her final class of the day was let out. Not only did she have no idea what she was going to tell the Headmistress regarding the banquet, but she had an excruciatingly long walk to be anxious over it. She wracked her brain, coming up with any and every solution as she walked the stone hallways, down a few flights of stairs and still not close enough to the room, only to come up empty handed each time. The halls were full of students , all of them downright giddy to be done for this Monday. The majority seemed to be gossiping about the rumors of Malfoy's fight with Anthony Goldstein, none of which seemed very close to the truth. She overheard that it was a proper duel, but had digressed to blows. That couldn't possibly be true because Malfoy was proficient with spells and would not play nicely. Anthony would have ended up worse off than the rumors told. If this was all only the beginning of the second week, Hermione could hardly image what the remainder of the year would be like.

She continued down the halls, through the corridors and her mind buzzing with options until she had none. She was at the Transfiguration door and as she was reaching for the handle, she heard footsteps from behind. Instantly, Hermione stiffened, recognizing the long, even stride of Malfoy immediately. She held her breath, preparing herself for the remark that was surely poised at his tongue. She didn't have to wait long.

"Going to open the door, or stand there like a statue?" Malfoy hissed out the words and Hermione winced. Without looking back, she pulled the door open roughly. Malfoy had been standing much closer to her when she did so and was nearly hit with the thick wooden door. He muttered something under his breath, but she was already on her way in, her eyes and ears focused only on the Headmistress sitting behind her desk.

Hermione stopped only a few feet in, however, worried she'd disturb the Transfiguration professor. It didn't surprise Hermione that she'd been reluctant to give up her place as Transfiguration professor. McGonagall had been in that position for far too long to not be attached to it. The woman very much enjoyed her life in this place and it was apparent. Sure, she was crass and bitter about it all now that she'd been doing it for so long, but it was clear that she took pride in her successful students.

"Do not lurk in doorways." The woman spoke without looking up from where her quill was scratching against the paper. Hermione shuffled in quickly, and Malfoy, who'd been standing behind her, far too close for comfort, followed. Hermione stood in front of the desk, her arms wrapped around the books she'd carried from class. She hadn't even bothered to stop by her dorm to set them down. She was too wound up to remember. Malfoy, she noticed, was standing with his robes open with his hands tucked in his jeans pockets. He had on a short sleeved, white button up under a grey sweater vest and his Slytherin adorned tie tucked beneath it. For whatever reason, Hermione was weirdly surprised by this. She knew everyone had to wear their uniform and though jeans were often frowned upon, they were not forbidden so long as on the outside you looked proper; that is, when your robe was secured. Hermione briefly looked down, her worn black Docs were well loved. Her knee length black skirt was hidden beneath her secured robes. The only visible part was her Gryffindor tie, the white collar of her shirt and part of the grey sweater she had on over them both. She noted that she felt positively prudish dressed this way, whereas Malfoy made a uniform look like a fashion statement. Why this was an important thought at the moment, she'd no idea, but it was.

"Now, then," McGonagall looked up, unfazed by Malfoy's bruised face, folding her hands on the desk after pushing away the paper she was grading. She matched both of their eyes equally before settling on Hermione and raising an eyebrow. There wasn't any question that she was expecting Hermione to jump right in after she asked her next question, but Hermione's tongue was held tightly to the roof of her mouth, praying that she didn't immediately ask about the banquet, "have we made a decision about the theme for the banquet this weekend?"

_Bloody hell,_ Hermione cursed internally. She glanced out of the corner of her eye to Malfoy, who seemed completely relaxed. He finally met Hermione's eye. The glance was brief and their eye contact even shorter, however Hermione felt that same weight press into her. Her body warning her of the man standing beside her. She was suddenly keenly aware of his size and that she had no hope to fight him off if he chose to dispose of her. Perhaps he'd go for McGonagall first and then she might just have time to run.

"We were thinking of doing a Unity theme." Malfoy had started the sentence before breaking eye contact and then turned back to the Headmistress. McGonagall furrowed her brows in a lapse of holding back the emotion from her face and raised her eyebrows to Malfoy.

"I see. What would this entail, then." She pressed further. Hermione was sure that she was suspicious.

"Well, we thought that in light of the recent events we should make sure that the students, both new and old, felt at home here again." Hermione's eyes were trained on Malfoy, her jaw tensed to keep it from dropping to the floor in astonishment while Malfoy smoothly answered. "The students would be required to wear all of the House colors in some way or another to promote the theme. We'd serve the Founder's favorite dishes as well as some other things, in case one of them liked something rather appalling."

"Hmm." McGonagall nodded once, "Very well. I suspect you will decorate in accordance."

This time the Headmistress was looking very firmly at Hermione and Malfoy also had his eyes trained on her. She swallowed, "Y-yes, of course. Everything would be themed as such. We wish to make sure that the students had a sense of nostalgia for the glory days of Hogwarts. I'd love to have portraits of the Founders as well as past Headmasters along the walls of the Great Hall, if that could be arranged." Hermione noted that Malfoy had tilted his head and looked away by means of showing his mild approval of the makeshift idea.

"I whole heartedly approve this idea and will announce it tomorrow to the student body at breakfast. You will need to assemble your prefects and mid-morning on Saturday you can begin the decorating. It will begin at six thirty in the evening. Is there any music selection?"

"Uhh..." Hermione's mind went blank and she accidently punctuated this fact with the inarticulate answer.

"Perhaps a selection of the past Headmasters' favorites, would suffice." Malfoy stated it plainly, again coming to Hermione's rescue.

"That is a superb idea, Mister Malfoy." The corner of the Headmistress' mouth turn up in a slight smile before she moved on from the subject, "Miss Granger, you are dismissed. Mister Malfoy, I wish to speak with you privately, for a moment."

Hermione didn't wait to get the look she was sure to receive from Malfoy if she lingered for too long. She smiled politely to the Headmistress and turned on her heel, walking a wide arc around Malfoy's place in the room. She made one slight glance over her shoulder, noting the dull expression on Malfoy's bruised features before pushing the door open and stepping out.

Unfortunately––for who, she wasn't sure––the door did not close completely and she wasn't far enough away to hear the first sentence that left the Headmistress' mouth.

"I understand," Hermione stopped in her tracks, pricking her ears to hear the last of that sentence. She heard the scrape of a chair on the stone floors followed by the click and clack of the woman's homely shoes before they paused. She could imagine that McGonagall was standing to the side of her desk, her hands clasped behind her back, one very telling eyebrow raised. "that you instigated a fist fight with Mister Goldstein, yesterday."

"I did." Malfoy's tone was completely mute of all emotion. Hermione took silent steps closer to the door, leaning her back on the stone wall beside it, her books clutched tightly to her chest so that her knuckles were white with the strain.

"Is that all you have to say?" McGonagall's voice was tightly reined in, but Hermione knew that she wouldn't hold back much longer.

"Is there more that you would like to hear from me, ma'am?" Malfoy was pushing her. Hermione wasn't sure why he was doing this, but she knew that he had to be up to something.

"Mister Malfoy, do you understand what position it is that you partake in at this school?" There was a pause and she could only assume Malfoy nodded or shook his head, silently in response. He also could have stared her blankly in the face, which was not an uncommon, defiant reaction from the usually masked man. "I see. You were granted a place here. You were even rewarded for your part in regards to the war. You asked me for my help, young man. You have been placed as a captain for the Slytherin Quidditch team as a person of determination, obedience as well as a standing influence among your peers. Now, can you tell me which one of those qualities you have so loudly proclaimed by sending a fellow student and prefect to the Hospital Wing?" McGonagall's voice had slowly risen in volume, her calm facade breaking at the end.

There was a long, excruciating pause. Hermione was poised to run the moment she heard footsteps because she was nearly certain one of the two people in that room was about to leave.

There were no footsteps, just silence. Then, she heard it. A break so quiet that she wasn't sure she'd even heard it. Then, again it came a little louder. Hermione furrowed her brows, trying her best to hear what was happening. It wasn't speaking, there were no hushed tones. Another, yes, she knew that sound. There was a subtle inhale of breath followed by a shaky exhale. She heard another brisk intake of breath, then the sound of the sole of a shoe scraping against the stone floors. Hermione stiffened, but a voice spoke again and she realized it wasn't someone leaving, but rather a nervous reaction to an uncomfortable situation.

"Aye." McGonagall affirmed whatever it was that she was watching that had warranted such a candid response had Hermione was rather startled. She suddenly felt that her eaves dropping had turned into some kind of peevish and intruding spying on a very private moment. "I expect a written apology to Mister Goldstein. Draco, you must know that this is very difficult for all of the staff. We know what you have asked of us and we will respect it, but please, boy, do not make me regret letting you back here."

There was a mutter, something that sounded like a, "Yes, ma'am," but Hermione couldn't be sure.

"If this persists, even once more you find yourself in a precarious situation, I will not hesitate to strip you of your position. I mean you captainship as well. Ah, ah, do not protest. I've already heard of the way you treated Professor Hurshwing. She was very upset, but I will give you another try at this. Don't let me down."

There was another awkward pause. Hermione's vision had blurred. Something about what she'd just heard had her heart in her throat and tears threatening to expose themselves. Why she was prepared to cry over a conversation she wasn't even supposed to hear was so beyond her that she was quite frozen in place for a long moment. That is, until she heard the creak of the door. She looked over far too late to see Malfoy's eyes on her, but he was interrupted from strangling her with a last word from McGonagall. Hermione immediately dashed off down the corridor, hanging an abrupt left hand turn, then another ten yards to the next right. She skidded to a stop another corridor away, her books clutched to her, her back to a wall, but before she could react, she heard footsteps. Poised to dash off again, she gasped at the sight of Malfoy turning the corner. At first he just stood there and Hermione prepared herself to sprint, but his stride was twice as long as hers and he grasped her arm, turning her towards him. Hermione's books crashed to the floor in motion and she shrunk back as far as she could while his hand was continuously holding her there.

"What the _fuck_ were you thinking? How did you think you would get away with this?" Malfoy's features twisted, turning to rage almost immediately and stayed frozen that way. The strain of his anger was enough to have Hermione feeling sick.

"I-I..." She stumbled over her thoughts, none coming out.

"You-you what? What did you hear?!" Malfoy's other hand came to grip her other arm and he shook her roughly. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away from him. There were tears leaking from the corner of her eyes. "WHAT!?"

"I'm sorry!" She yelled, still not looking at him.

"Sorry for what!? Sorry for me? Sorry that you overheard? What is it that you are sorry for?" Malfoy had leaned down closer to her face, shortening the distance between their heights.

Hermione looked at him out of the corner of her eye, finally turning her face to look at him properly. At this proximity, she could see every colored inch of his face. "I'm sorry for listening! I shouldn't have! I'm sorry!"

Hermione expected another shake and another lashing, but nothing came. She looked at him carefully, seeing the anger melt into something she couldn't define. She tilted her head, the fear easing away. Whatever Malfoy was, Death Eater, murderer, conspirer, or something else entirely, it was something that McGonagall could forgive. Hermione couldn't wrap her head around this at all. There was nothing that would make her be able to see this man holding her arms and threatening her, a man who started fights for no reason. Only now did Hermione realize that those gasps and harsh breaths had been Malfoy. The blotchy state of his face was hidden by bruises, but along his right side, she could see where his eyes seemed redder than usual. She couldn't accept that he could have been actually crying, but whatever it was, he was giving a very real reaction to his emotions.

"Draco..." Hermione tread softly.

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Malfoy's serene expression turned to rage again. He shoved her away from him, harder than she could accommodate for. She hit her shoulder against the wall, only able to brace herself from falling at the last second. Her stalked towards her, ignoring the wide-eye expression that had settled in permanently on her face when he was near her. "I am Malfoy to you. Don't you dare call me by my first name. You have no place calling me that. Whatever you heard, whatever you think you know, _you don't_. Don't try and figure me out, don't try and solve whatever is. I'm exactly what you always thought I was. I'm mean, unfeeling," Malfoy quickly pulled back his robe sleeve and revealed the mark that marred his skin. Hermione flinch away from it, "I _am_ this mark. I'm _exactly_ this. Don't convince yourself otherwise."

Hermione was rooted to the wall while they exchanged their last glances. Malfoy finally backed away from her, watching her face with his grey eyes until he bared his teeth shortly. He then turned and left the way he came.

Hermione stood there for a long time, her back against the wall. These kinds of interactions with Malfoy were going to kill her if she didn't find a way to deal with him or steer clear of him. Her brain was traveling at the speed of light, running through everything she'd heard and seen. Every time he was near her, ever time he was not. All the rumors and discussions. She ran through the moment she saw him across the Great Hall on the first night, when she found him bloodied in the common room... when she saw him at Harry's funeral.

"Oh, Harry..." Hermione whimpered. She slid down the wall, her whole existence suddenly engulfed in her best friend's memory. She cradled her face in her open palms, silent tears falling from her eyes, soaking her hands. She needed him here, she needed her sturdy life back. She needed... she needed... she needed something that she couldn't define.

.

---

.

Oh the angst! What shall we do with our poor dear? There's certainly more to come. Let me know what you think!


End file.
